Turning Pages
by twelveisagoodone
Summary: Clara Oswald expects lots of things of her new life: enjoy her independence, be successful at her new job, make new friends and forget the pains of the past. What she doesn't expect is to fall for the guy next door. Alternate Universe where Clara is basically Clara and the Doctor is a University professor who lives in the same building.
1. Chapter 1

He slowly swirls the glass on his hand, his eyes fixed at the amber liquid inside it as if all the answers he is looking for can be there. Most of the times, it doesn't. Especially lately, and he can't avoid thinking at the cruelty of all that. He is being denied the blessing of diving into the oblivion and instead, keeps being haunted by the darkness that comes from inside. It isn't fair.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips. Life is almost never fair anyway. It is nothing more than a sequence of insipid, pointless and painful events. He puts the glass down slowly and after a moment, decides for emptying it at the kitchen sink.

Somewhere inside him he knows that things aren't like that to everyone. Maybe, it hadn't always been like that for him too, but he honestly can't remember. It had happened long time ago, in another life, when he was still able to smile and breath and feel, when he was far more than this ridiculous caricature of himself.

Crossing his living room his eyes catch the image of the man reflected at the large mirror that covers one of the walls. He runs a hand through his silver curls and the man at the mirror looks back at him with tired eyes. When has he become so gray? When the lines around his eyes and mouth have become so deep? His fingers slide through his cheeks, feeling the stubble under its tips. He should shave. Or maybe grow a beard. He watches himself for a moment longer. No. That would make him look like a deadly ill Father Christmas, he thinks with a wry smile. So shave it would be.

But first, a shower. It will help to shake off all the scotch he had drunk earlier. Then he will go for a coffee. A little walk to the coffee shop at the corner and he can have his favorite. It sounds like a good plan and he walks to his bathroom trying to think about something else than his own pathetic life.

But sometimes, life just surprises you and challenges you to be brave enough to jump into the stream in search for the rewards when the waters calm down again.

* * *

She closes the door behind her back with her foot and places the cartoon box at the floor, taking a moment to look at all the mess surrounding her. Her body complains and muscles she isn't aware of having ache uncomfortably, easily convincing her to delay the tidying up in favor of a few moments on her comfy brand new couch. Her couch. She smiles her contentment at the thought and let herself fall heavy on it, kicking her shoes off.

The living room is more like a nightmare of cartoon boxes and things scattered on the floor. Even with the whole weekend ahead her it seems now an impossible mission to accomplish until Monday morning. She closes her eyes for an instant to savor the moment. Her home. Messy right now, and rented, of course. But hers all the same. It is the first time she is on her own and she can't be happier. Or more scared. She can't decide each one yet.

She sighs, memories she is struggling to keep on the back of her mind fight their way out and she feels the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. But she is determined to not give up and once more succumb to the sadness that wants to claim her soul. She has walked that path for too long now and, even though she knows that the wounds will take some more time to heal, she has promised her father and mostly herself that she will move on. She needs to. She has to do it. Besides, this is the whole business of moving to London, a fresh start, a new job, and a place to call her own. New friends maybe, in a new city. A new life.

So she shakes her head as if that can brush off her gloomy thoughts.

God! She really needs a bath. She can't wait to test her bathtub. But first things first. There are still some few boxes she needs to fetch from her car and, after that, if she can find her coffeemaker, she will make herself a good strong coffee. Or maybe she will buy one at the coffee shop at the corner.

She jumps from her seat and makes the journey to her car and back in a lazy pace as the muscles of her legs start to give up. Then, first for her surprise and after for her annoyance, the front door just refuses to open when she turns the key on the lock.

She tries different approaches to open it, all of them useless, until that stupid situation starts to have the best of her and she uses her weight against the offending wooden door to force it open. But the damn door just refuses to give in, more stubborn than her and keeps denying her the right to enter her own flat.

She curses under her breath and after a last attempt, throws all her composure to the wind and kicks it in utterly frustration, only to regrets it in the next second, a sharp pain on her left foot making her close her eyes and lean against the wall for a moment.

"You should be more careful." The male voice comes from the other end of the hallway and she opens her eyes startled to see a man leaning against the doorway of his own apartment, watching her with curiosity. "You can hurt yourself like that," he adds, the deeps and lows of his voice curls in the rough edges of his Scottish accent and makes her feel a strange flutter on her stomach. His gaze is unsettling and she feels her cheeks burn thinking about how long he is there, watching her pathetic attempts.

"Problems with your door lock?" He raises an expressive eyebrow.

She finally seems to come back to her senses and finds her voice again. "The key just doesn't work."

His eyes are magnetic and from where she stands, they seem to be from an unusual shade of blue. No. Now that she is really looking at them, they seem greyer than blue. Except that when he tilts his head a little there is a flickering of green under the change of light. Unsettling and impossible eyes, she thinks.

"Mind if I help you?"

His voice startles her and she almost jump. "Of course not. I will be very grateful."

He is tall and slender and moves with the confidence of someone who knows exactly his place in this world while he crosses the hallway to stop next to her. At her side he seems too tall, but then everyone seems to be too tall from the perspective of hers 5'2 foot of height.

"You should ask the landlord to fix it or you'll have to find your way with this tricky little minx," his hand now is on the doorknob, his eyes fixed on the lock. He then pulls the doorknob firmly against his chest before he turns the key on the lock and pushes the door using the weight of his body. The door opens with a dry click and she looks at him in surprise.

"How did you know?"

He cast her a bashful smile but his eyes are fixed on hers with that greenish light burning her till her bones.

"I think that it has always been like this," he shrugs and shoves his hands inside his jeans pockets.

 _God, men like this should be banned from wearing jeans and white T-shirts._

"Thank you," she ventures an honest smile.

"You're welcome," his eyebrows rise a little and her eyes follow him when he walks his way back to his own door.

"I would offer you a coffee in thanks, but I'm not sure if I know where my coffeemaker is right now," she says with a faint grin. Now, from where did that come?

He blinks as if surprised, that shy smile crosses his lips once more and for one moment he seems almost boyish, despite his silver curls and the lines of his face.

"No need to bother," he crosses his arms in front of his chest and casually leans against the doorway once more. Both of them stare at each other for a quick second before he speaks again. "Thank you anyway."

She watches as he lowers his eyes and closes his door leaving her alone again in the hallway. Clara mentally kicks herself as she get into her flat and closes the stupid door. She is in her new home for what? Two minutes? And she is already developing a crush on the guy next door? Oh, so typical!

 _Please, Clara Oswald get a grip on yourself!_

She sighs loudly, because the last thing she needs is to fall for some random man. Or for any man at all. Not now. Not for a long, long time if she has any choice on the matter. She shut her eyes. Maybe not ever again.

Once more she struggles against painful memories and decides to start with the boxes in her bedroom to occupy her mind with something else. She will need to put everything on place if she wants to get some sleep later, so it is the logical place to start.

Clara is still dwelling with her wardrobe and the evident lack of space for all her shoes when a knock on her front door startles her. She isn't expecting anyone so she hesitates in answer it at first. But the insistent knocks make her change her mind. Maybe is some kind of emergency. Or maybe is... Him? She rolls her eyes at herself. Idiot.

Behind the door she finds the familiar and beaming face of the old lady who lives downstairs.

"Mrs. Woodward?" Clara smiles at her and the old lady nods with a large grin of satisfaction because she remembers her name.

"That's right, dear. Miss Oswald, am I right?"

"Yes, but please call me Clara."

"Clara," she laughs and starts to happily chat about how good is the neighborhood for a young woman like her and tells her about the lovely couple that lives in the first floor too. Clara really tries to follow her but it has been a too long day. Her body complains strongly for a break and she needs to lean on the doorway for a moment to not fall on the floor. The old lady peeks over her shoulder to have a glimpse of her messy living room.

"So, it seems that you still have a lot of work to do, dear."

Clara smiles indulgently and from the corner of her eye she catches him going out his apartment, a dark blue cardigan over his white T-shirt. He casts a quick glance at her but his eyes stops at the back of the old lady and he seems to hesitate to move forward. But then he shakes his head and locks his door before he walks slowly towards the staircase, a cross expression on his face.

"Dear, I have brought you this," Mrs. Woodward gives her a plate carefully wrapped in a kitchen towel decorated in roses and lilacs. "It's a welcome to the building gift," she adds with a beaming grin and once more peeks over Clara's shoulder, this time practically forcing her head through the door to have a better view. "It is a very nice couch you have there, dear. And it's brand new, isn't it? And look at that, you have a nice taste for furniture; I can see it from here. You will make this a better place to live that the last tenant. Very good taste, indeed."

Clara is a little surprised by the old lady insistence and is dwelling between giving her access to her apartment or politely giving her some excuse to get in and finally take the bath she is yearning for. But she doesn't do neither because she sees when he dramatically rolls his eyes at Mrs. Woodward last commentary. Clara pushes back a smile.

"Mrs. Woodward." His voice is harsher than before and makes his accent more evident. The old lady is startled and turns around to look at him, her expression curiously stern.

"Doctor!" Mrs. Woodward's voice raises an octave when she speaks his name, punctuating her displeasure on being interrupted on whatever she is trying to do. "May I help you?" The old lady asks in a clear mock disdain.

Clara fells the tension rising but her attention is locked on him while she struggles to avoid eye contact. Doctor? So he is a Doctor. She wonders what his first name is. She will go for Peter. Maybe Edward. No. Definitely Peter. He looks like a Peter for her.

"Did you lock your door?" He is looking the old lady straight in the eyes in a way that Clara can only describe as menacing. Curiously the old lady returns his gaze, not even a little bit intimidated by their height difference. "Because I'd just heard Gipsy barking. And it didn't seem to come from inside your apartment."

Mrs. Woodward furrows her brows at him not buying his statement as true and it is about to give him some good answer when they hear a dog barking from downstairs. Clara can't say if the dog is inside or outside the apartment but that is enough to make the poor old lady go down in a hurry. Not without casting him a last stern look before she disappears downstairs.

He finally moves his eyes to her, his countenance softening considerably and she feels that odd fluttering in her belly once more.

"Lovely lady," he almost smirks, his eyes intently on hers.

"She doesn't like you at all," Clara finally manages to say before things starts to become awkward.

"And I keep asking me why," he grumbles loud enough to Clara hear him and she chuckles, completely sure that the feeling is mutual.

"So?" She raises her brows inquiringly.

He scratches his scalp and shrugs, casting a look to the tips of his shoes before looking at her once more.

"You need to go harder on her or you will never see the end of it."

"But she is so sweet!" She can't refrain a grin when he grimaces at her, seeming more a twelve year old annoyed with a grumpy grandparent.

"Wait and see! Without any warning she will end up in your nice brand new coach. Forever." He watches her for a second and turns his body a little towards the staircase. "I'd better be going," he starts to go down but raises his head again to her. "Ah, and welcome," he grins and finally goes down disappearing downstairs in a flash.

Clara puts Mrs. Woodward welcome gift at the kitchen counter and finds out that is a homemade cake that seems rather tasty. At least it smells really good. Her lips curl in a grin when the images of his annoyed face flashes in her mind.

 _Yes. Definitely he should be banned to wear jeans._

Later, when she is about to finally get into her bathtub she hears again a knock on her door. Her heart is torn between to answer the door and find Mrs. Woodward again at that hour of the night or completely ignore it and simply slide to the warm waters in the bathtub. But she feels guilty about leaving the poor old lady waiting, after she had been so kind. A little nosy, but undoubtedly kind. So she decides for the first and after put herself inside her dressing gown, she opens the door to find no one to be seen.

She blinks. She is completely sure that she heard the knocking but maybe she is just too tired. But something on the floor catches her eye and she goes down on her knee to pick it up - a cup of steamy coffee and a bag with bagels, from the coffee shop on the corner. There is a little note in the bag written in a very steady and masculine handwriting.

" _Just in case you haven't still located your coffeemaker."_

She glances at the closed door across the hallway and smiles dumbly at it just for in the next second almost bang her head on the wall.

 _Damn. Damn. Damn._


	2. Chapter 2

They meet again on Monday morning, when Clara is leaving for her first day at her new job, all hopes and expectations with her brand new life.

She has just locked her door when he emerges from the staircase, tousled hair, sleepy eyes and a shadow of stubble on his face. There is a second of hesitation before he plants his feet on the last step with a coy grin that she returns with one of her own.

"Starting early today," he glances at the books on her hand as he walks past her to his own door with a newspaper folded under his arm and a cup of coffee from the shop at the corner in one hand.

"Yeah, don't want to get late at my first day," she tights her grip on her books and watches him while he searches his pockets with one hand and balances his coffee and paper with the other.

He looks like someone who had just been thrown out of bed and yet, she can't avert her eyes from him. His hand finally produces a set of keys from inside one of his coat pockets and he glares at it as if the keys had just offended him, making her suppress a grin. His eyes then come back to her and she clears her throat to disguise her embarrassment at being caught staring. But she can't avoid it.

"I haven't the opportunity to thank you yet," she manages to say breaking the awkward silence. His brows knit together in slightly confusion and she is forced to add. "For the coffee. It really saved my life."

"Ah," he watches her while opening his front door and sets one foot inside. "You're welcome. Hope you've already found your coffeemaker."

"Thank God, yes! Can't start a day without a good coffee."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," he smirks and she follows his glance at the paper cup at his hand.

They look at each other for what shouldn't have been more than a second, but yet, she manages to blush.

"Gotta go," she gives a couple of steps towards the staircase. "See you." "Yeah, see you."

Clara feels his eyes on her while she gets down a few steps but then she stops, suddenly aware that something else is missing.

"You've never told me your name," she turns around so quickly that almost loses her balance. Which fortunately doesn't happen because her hand quickly grasps the banister.

His door is half closed but he opens it again when her voice echoes at the hallway. It takes him a moment longer to answer her.

"The Doctor," he says giving a step outside to have a better view of her.

She furrows her brows slightly and he raises his thick ones in response, challenging her to say something else, which she does because, well, who can be so cocky to call himself like that?

"The Doctor," she repeats and adds, knowing that it is exactly what he is expecting her to do. "Doctor who?"

The corner of his mouth quirks upward and she instantly knows that she is doomed because she wants to kiss that smug little smile out of his face.

"Just the Doctor," he states resting his free hand at his doorknob. "Yours?" She blinks. Right. Of Course. Her name. "Clara. Clara Oswald."

The Doctor slowly nods and appraises her as if he is considering whether the name suits her or no and she blushes. How can he do that to her?

"Well, good luck on your first day, Clara Oswald."

"Thanks," she manages to say before she hurries downstairs, urging to hide from him her flustered cheeks and wondering why the way he says her name makes her act like a hormonal teenager running on wobbly knees.

* * *

If her first day at school it's not the huge success she has dreaming about it's very far from being a bad one. The Headmaster is a kind man in his early sixties and introduces her to the other teachers at the staff room. She still has time to talk with a couple of them before she heads to her first class of the day, a group of 8th graders too keen in show her how much they don't need her or her class.

But she isn't one to be easily intimidated and it's not the first time she has to deal with a group like that. So she establishes the limits with respectful authority and shows them her best, letting them know that she is willing to guide them through the challenges of the year if they want to join her.

By the end of the day she gets home tired but happy, knowing that with all the ups and downs, teaching English is still her passion and she would be happy as long as she can keep doing it.

Two days later, she finally meets the couple that lives downstairs, Amy Pond and Rory Williams and they befriended almost instantly. Amy, who teaches Art History for the freshman at the university, is sassy and clever, makes a great tea and most of the times talks for them both, herself and Rory too. He is a nurse and hides behind his shyness a witty and observant mind and a remarkable good heart. It's endearing how much they adore each other, despite the amount of bantering Amy keeps going on. But Clara thinks that it is part of their charm and amuses herself with them most of the time.

Despite their busy schedules, they see themselves often. Amy invites her for dinner always Rory has a night shift and both of them or just Amy shows up at Clara's place for a coffee, a good chat or a Saturday night movie because their TV set keeps breaking and has a terrible image.

She keeps meeting the Doctor at the hallway most of the mornings and it becomes part of her daily routine: waking up, taking a shower, dressing, drinking her coffee and meeting the Doctor at her front door before she goes to work.

He is always looking like he is still half sleeping; his unruly curls pointing into all directions, his face unshaved, coffee in one hand and paper on the other. And they always chat for a couple of minutes about something really unimportant while they exchange smiles and glances that may or may not mean something else.

After the third week in row, on a particularly rainy Wednesday morning, curiosity finally beats her and she asks him about the coffee. Because, frankly, why to challenge a weather like that so early in the morning just for the not so great coffee from corner shop?

"Well," he scratches the back of his neck, "my coffee maker broke some time ago and I really haven't the time to buy a new one yet."

She can't refrain a smile. "You can order a new one on line, you know."

"Yeah," he shows her a crooked smile, "but I have this need to touch the real thing before buying it. Call me old fashioned, if you want," he ruffles his wet hair with a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. All Clara can think about is how endearing that is.

Then an idea that can only be credited to her running hormones crosses her mind. She is early for school today and the only reason she is leaving right now is to occupy her free time doing some marking. Nothing to do with her morning meetings with the Doctor at the hallway, of course not. Then the words just blurt out of her mouth before she can stop them.

"I just made a new pot of fresh coffee and it's probably still hot, if you want to go for a change."

He hesitates and shifts on his feet, his eyes carefully studying her for a moment before he speaks.

"Very tempting," he smiles. "But I don't want to make you late."

"I wouldn't have offered if it would," she opens her door and invites him with a motion of her hand. "Come in."

His eyes meet hers for a long and silent moment and she ignores the fluttering sensation in her stomach when he finally walks toward her and follows her inside her kitchen.

And that it is how it starts, her daily morning coffee with the Doctor, though it will take some time until she can really call it in that way.

At the beginning it is more like a coffee special delivery; she knocks at his door with a steamy mug of strong black coffee that he silent accepts with a cautious look before she hurries downstairs without giving him any chance to protest.

After a couple of days, he opens his door freshly shaved with a bashful smile (that she has started to secretly adore) on his lips, and prevents her of moving away gently grasping her by her hand.

"You know you don't need to do this, don't you?"

His words are almost harsh, but his tone and his entire demeanor are gentle. Still, he seems to interpret her silence as shock for his suddenness when actually she is much more surprised by his almost tidy appearance and by the touch of his hand, still on her arm, than with his lack of tact.

"I mean, I'm really grateful. You make a great coffee but-"

"I certainly don't need to do it," she interrupts him with a tilt of her head, her eyes boldly challenging his, "but I want to."

He seems to consider her words for a moment too long, his piercing eyes threatening to melt her into a puddle in the middle of the hallway.

"Ok," he lets go off her hand and retreats his own to his jeans pocket. "Since you will keep doing it, at least, do it properly."

She glares at him with raised eyebrows, unconsciously flexing her fingers, her hand already missing the contact. "Sorry?"

"You provide the coffee, I provide the mugs and my kitchen," he steps aside to gives her space to get in. "This is my final offer, all or nothing."

She thinks that there is a shadow of a smile tugging the corner of his lips, and then she takes her time to answer him just to see if his confidence will weaken with her lack of response. But it doesn't and he sustains her gaze, looking like he already knows what she will say. She almost smiles. Of course he does.

* * *

Their coffee encounters are restricted to weekdays and are a quick affair, just long enough for both of them take one mug or two and have a little impersonal chat before their respective days starts.

Of course they meet casually in different occasions - when he is coming back from work, looking magnificent in fashionable suits with no tie; at the grocery shop where he always looks at the vegetables as if they were offending creatures; on the street in front of their building on the weekends when he goes for a walk.

They will always acknowledge each other with a smile, exchange a couple of polite words and move away, both secretly waiting for the next morning coffee.

Clara loves their little chats over coffee, even if she is the one who makes most of the talk. It amuses her how, most of the days, he can't even think straight before he finishes his first mug. It is no surprise that he prefers to shave after coffee, otherwise, he could harm himself sleeping over the shaver.

Slowly, she starts to learn things about him, more from what she sees or reads between the lines of the bits he gives her every day.

His love for books and classic rock and roll fills the wooden shelves at his living room and his appreciation for art can be spotted at some scattered objects and paintings on the walls; his eclectic taste for clothes that includes the fashionable suits he wears for work, jeans and an infinite collection of white t-shirts with skulls prints, his favorites when he is at home; his clever mind and dry sense of humor, revealed among the right doses of caffeine, and the sarcasm he wears as much as protection as to hide something else. Something that she can't exactly put her finger on, but that she can see in the deep of his blue eyes.

When he tells her that he is a History professor at the same University than Amy, she asks him if he knows the Scotswoman.

"Pond?" He smiles almost fondly. "'Course I do. Clever, quick thinker, bit of a temper, but she has Rory to keep her balance," he smirks.

"I think they make quite a couple, actually. So, you are friends then."

"Yes, you can say that," he offers to pour her another mug but she refuses shaking her head, so he refills his own. "They helped me to find this apartment some years ago when I-" He stops himself and hides his expression behind his mug for a moment before he continues. "When I was searching for a new place."

Clara can feel the pain that slips through the cracks on his well-built walls, but knows enough about him now to not press the matter any further. As much as their daily conversations have approached them, he is still a mystery to be solved.

* * *

She bangs her head on her door in frustration before she rests her forehead against the cold wood. How many times a person can be locked outside of her own apartment?

"I thought you had changed the lock."

The familiar Scottish accent startles her. The Doctor. Of course. She turns around to face him and tries to ignore both, the heat on her cheeks and the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"I didn't. But that's not the problem. It's just..." She bits her lower lip considering how much of an idiot she is about to make herself in front of him. Again. "I just lost my keys."

"Oh," he seems to think for a moment. "No spare keys?"  
"No," she blushes even more. His insistent gaze upon her is not helping at all.

"Hmm. Too bad." He glances at his watch and, for a moment, seems to think about something. "Hungry?"

She blinks without follow him but he is kind enough to enlighten her quickly.

"I am going out for dinner and since it seems that you won't be able to get into your place right now, I was wondering if you'd like to join me. For dinner." When she keeps silence he goes on. "I can help you with your door." She can swear that there is a smile desperately fighting his way out of his lips before he adds. "After."

That is really... unexpected. Did he just ask her out? Even after two weeks or so having coffee together it is still a surprise.

"I... uhh... Doctor, I-"

"You can leave your groceries bags at my place," he opens his front door as if she hasn't a vote on the matter and she stands there looking at him dumbly.

"Thank you, Doctor, but-" Her stomach chooses that moment for all times to growl and she knows that he hears it because of the look on his face.

"So?" He raises one eyebrow and waits for her.

Maybe it is the way he looks at her, not specifically now, but every time they met, with a shadow of sadness hidden on the deep of the blue steel of his eyes. Maybe it is his voice that curls around her belly and reverberates inside her ribcage each time he speaks. Maybe it is just because she is too tired and really hungry to argue. But on the next moment she surprises herself doing the last thing she should do.

"Ok."

He takes her bags from her hands and disappears through his door to be back in a couple of seconds.

"I have a taxi waiting for me downstairs," he offers her his arm. "Shall we?"

 _Fuck._

* * *

The Doctor holds the car's door for her to get in and follows her inside, adjusting his long legs at the tight space at the back seat. She doesn't know the address he gives to the driver, but she knows that it is in a posh neighborhood, which surprises her a little and makes her question if she is wearing adequate clothes.

She casts a discreet glance at him to check his clothes and her concerns risen up. He is wearing a suit with a white shirt underneath, no tie, no vest, as his usual work attire, but is still a suit.

"What?" He asks her with raised eyebrows and she dismisses him with a slightly shake of her head.

"Nothing," she bits the inner side of her cheek. "I was just thinking that maybe I'm not dressed properly."

He looks at her for a moment, taking her in, from head to toe. "Why would you think that? You look good to me," he averts his eyes quickly from her to check his phone and she is grateful for that because she can feel the heat on her cheeks.

They don't talk much after that, she keeps her eyes on the window, trying to figure out where exactly they are going and, at the few times she looks at him, he seems lost on his phone.

Clara blinks in confusion when, twenty minutes later, the taxi stops in front of a big and elegant house and he jumps off after paying the driver. He peeks through the taxi door when she doesn't move and raises his thick eyebrows at her.

"Where are here," he says and offers her his hand to help her out. "And where is exactly here?"

"Dinner," he states and with a motion of his arm asks her to accompany him to the front door. She walks next to him in astonished silence, with a feeling that she is about to regret this for a long time.

A smiling man opens the house door before they knock and seems to be really glad to see them. Curiously, the Doctor smiles too, not the smug smirk or the bashful grin she is used to, but a honest smile that reach his eyes and makes her forget for a second about the awkwardness of all that to admire this so rare event.

"So, you've come," the smiling man gives the Doctor an affectionate pat on his back and shakes his hand warmly.

"It seems so," the Doctor chuckles. "I can't possibly lose your big anniversary, can I?"

"'Course you can't, mate," the man steps aside to allow them inside to a well decorated foyer before he adds, his eyes moving between the Doctor and Clara with unveiled curiosity. "Donna and the girls will be thrilled."

"Oh, I can bet on that," the Doctor mutters and the other man rolls his eyes at him, but he is smiling again when he looks back at Clara.

"Sorry, I should pay attention to my manners, since this one here hasn't any," he pats the Doctor shoulder again and the Doctor glares at him, but he just ignores it and extends her a friendly hand. "I'm Robert."

She smiles at him and shakes his hand. "Clara."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Clara," Robert smiles back.

"Likewise," she says and the Doctor says something else but his voice trails off when they hear a female voice calling for Robert. A red haired woman stops immediately at the door when sees them, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the Doctor.

"Oh, my God," she eyes the Doctor from head to toe. "You are still alive!"

"I'm pretty sure you will know quickly if I wasn't," he gives a couple of steps towards her.

"You are an idiot, you know?" Closing the distance between them, the red haired rests a hand on his forearm.

"So you keep telling me," the Doctor face breaks into a smile.

The woman finally throws her arms around his neck and he hesitates for a moment before allowing his own arms to wrap her tight against his chest. When she finally moves away, she touches his face fondly.

"You know that there is this new invention called phone, don't you?"

"Vaguely," he gently removes a strand of reddish hair from her face and she chuckles. "But I'm here, am I not?"

"Yes, you really are," she smiles and he smiles back when she kisses his cheek. "Robert bet you wouldn't come, by the way."

"Donna!" Robert protests blushing slightly when all the eyes turn to him, but the Doctor chuckles despite himself.

"Why I'm not surprised with that?" He says, this time, patting Robert's shoulder with more force than necessary only to see his grimace.

Then Donna sets her eyes on Clara and she felt herself blushing once more. "Hi!" Donna walks toward her and the Doctor decides to intervene this time. "Donna, this is my friend, Clara Oswald. Clara, this is my sister, Donna."

Sister. Clara looks at him with wide eyes and she thinks that he blushes a little. So he asks her for dinner and takes her to his sister house, without any kind of warning, any single comment? Who does that kind of things anyway?

"Nice to meet you, Clara," Donna takes her hand. "Please, come inside. Everybody else is already here, by the way. The girls will be thrilled to see you, John."

Clara glances at the Doctor over her shoulder while she follows Donna through the house. Her lips form a mute 'John' and he just shrugs with a smirk, making her roll her eyes at him.

Donna takes them to the gardens where the other guests are sitting around a long table carefully decorated with flowers and candles. Torches and a hundreds of fairy lights complete the garden illumination, creating an almost magical atmosphere. There is music playing at the background, almost muffled by happy chatter and laughter.

As soon as they cross the doors to outside, three little girls with beaming faces run towards them to throw her arms at the Doctors legs and middle. He laughs and it is the most beautiful sound Clara has ever heard.

The girls wrap their arms around his neck when he kneels on the ground, giggling and jumping over him, almost making him to loose his balance for a moment.

Clara is fascinated with the interaction and just can't move her eyes from them. She covers her mouth with one of her hands to muffle a laugh when one of the girls starts to kiss him repeatedly.

"Hey, hey! Let your uncle breath, Emma!" Robert gently pulls the kissing one apart from him before the four of them ended on the ground.

"We miss you so much, Uncle John!" The oldest of them says, holding him tight once more.

"I miss you too, little monkeys," his voice is gentle and his eyes sparkle. But he blushes slightly when his eyes meet hers, putting a silly grin on Clara's face.

Standing up, he introduces her to the girls, Emma, Jessica and Rachel, and three chubby little faces smile shyly at her, their eyes completely betraying their curiosity about her.

The girls pull both of them by their hands towards the table, and the other guests greet them, the few ones that already know the Doctor, more enthusiastically than the others.

Donna makes the necessary introductions and soon Clara sees herself taking a seat between Emma, the little eager kisser one, and a friend of Robert and Donna's, called Jack. The Doctor sits across the table, just in front of her and between his two other nieces, who seem determined to keep him occupied by the rest of the night.

Jack is probably at his early forties and seems to be a nice guy, a little too flirty, but undeniable witty and funny. Not to mention gorgeous. Not that she is really paying attention on it; it's just a fact really hard to go unnoticed.

Donna, who sits next to little Emma and is multitasking among feeding her youngster, keeping an eye on her other two girls, eating her own food and talking with her guests, is quick in make Clara at ease. Soon, Clara engages in conversation with her and Jack and the dinner pass in blink with a combination of good food, great wine, enjoyable company and too much stolen glances.

At first, Clara thinks it is just a coincidence. But after the third time her eyes meet the Doctor's over the table, she recognizes the danger in the little game of hide and seek their eyes are playing. Too bad that her eyes have a mind of their own and keep going, ignoring the fluttering sensation on the pitch of her stomach and the heat on her cheeks. Maybe it is the beautiful smile playing on his lips. Or maybe it is just the wine and the warmth of the night. But she can't help herself.

As soon as dinner is over, someone raises the music volume and Robert shows up at Donna's side with a rose in one of his hands. With a smile, he asks her to dance on the wooden dance floor they have set in the middle of the garden.

It is evident how much they love each other in the sparkle in their eyes and the smile on their lips while they slowly dance at the tune of an old McCartney song.

Clara can't refrain a smile of her own watching them nor the giggle that escapes her lips when little Emma runs to join her happy parents, ignoring the protests of her older sisters. Robert takes her in his arms and keeps dancing with Donna.

Others enthusiastically join the trio when a Stones' classic replaces the love song and she notices that, except for her and the Doctor, everybody is dancing, including the little girls.

She watches him for a long moment, unable to move her eyes away. He is just beautiful under the soft lights; his silver curls gently sway with the soft breeze, a peaceful look on his face while he observes the people at the dance floor and casually sips from his wine. His eyes then move slowly to her and he smiles.

But before Clara can say or do something, Jack's large hand grabs one of hers, unceremoniously pulling her to her feet and dragging her to the dance floor without accepting a no for an answer.

Besides being handsome and quite charming, Jack can add good dancer to the list of his innumerous qualities and she giggles when he twirls her around with a broad smile on his face. After a quick moment, she is at ease with him, shaking herself at the beat of old classics of rock and roll, having good fun with him and the other guests.

The Doctor, though, keeps his place at the table and Clara can't see his face, hidden by the shadows at the garden, but feels his eyes on her nonetheless. She considers for a moment joining him, but then, Jack is twirling her again and Donna offers her a glass of wine and she decides to allow herself a little bit of fun for a moment longer.

Besides, the Doctor still owes her an explanation. A very good one for bringing her to her sister's wedding anniversary party without any previous warning.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes he would like to be able to kick himself. Hard. And he would try it, right now, if that wouldn't provoke an image somewhat disturbing. Not to mention that everybody would think he has gone nuts for good. Which maybe is not that far from the truth. Because what else can that be?

One day she knocks at his door with a mug of steamy coffee, flustered cheeks, flash her dimples at him and mutters something that he can't understand before she vanishes downstairs, and on the next, Clara Oswald is pouring coffee for both of them at his kitchen. His kitchen. _At his invitation._

He still doesn't understand what had possessed him to agree with that coffee thing at the beginning, let alone make him suggest that Clara should come every morning. Lack of caffeine, he keeps telling himself, he just can't think straight without coffee, it must've been that. Because the other options are almost as absurd as premature senility or insanity. Or lack of caffeine.

And just him, who has never been a morning person, forever criticized by his grumpy mood (which he recognizes as a minor flaw anyway), gladly opens his door every morning to receive her in his house. And, between generous sips from the good coffee she makes, he distracts himself with the velvet brown of her eyes and the dimples that flash anytime she smiles while she chats happily and his brains starts up.

The problem is that he starts to dread the silence of his weekend's mornings, his kitchen so cold and empty without the scent of coffee. Because that is the problem, right? He needs her coffee after all and he wonders if he has started to become addicted. To what is something he just prefers to ignore.

Now, as his fingers drum incessantly on his thigh while he watches Clara dancing with the bloody bastard of Jack Harkness, he keeps telling himself that the erratic beat of his heart has nothing to do with the glances she casts over Jack's shoulder from time to time. There is a spark on her eyes when she looks at him once more, a coy smile curling her lips when she lowers her gaze.

He wonders if she knows the real power of that look of hers, wars had started for much less, for Christ sake.

There is a joke hidden in all that because that can't be right. That beautiful woman is dancing with the sex storm that is Harkness, but her eyes keep searching for him, from all people. Of course that he can't say much on his own defense because he can't take his eyes off her, not even if he wants to.

One last long sip empties his glass and he allows the red liquid to stay a little longer inside his mouth, feeling the tingling sensation on his tongue before it smoothly goes down his throat. Jack twirls her around and Clara giggles, showing her dimples and he wonders if he kissed her now, her lips would taste like wine too.

He crosses a hand through his hair and pushes back the thought before things start to get out of hand. A little more and he will be thinking that the smile on her lips exists only because of him. Instead, he shifts on his chair and ignores the twitch inside of his chest in favor of blaming the wine. Certainly he is drunk or very close to that.

"So, tell me, brother dear, what is the story?"

A voice coming from his right scares the hell out of him and he practically jumps out of his seat.

"Oh, for fuck sake, Donna! You can kill someone like that!" He scowls at her.

She half laughs and pulls a chair to sit next to him, not before scolding him because of his bad language.

"The girls are already sleeping upstairs," he shrugs grumpily, pouring another glass of wine for himself.

"Rules of the house. You should've been used to that right now. Oh, but of course you can't," she glares at him, "because you _never_ show up."

He hides his face on his hands and groans through his fingers. "Fine! I think deserved this one." "You can bet on it," is her dry reply.

He spies on her through his fingers, flashing her an apologetic smile and Donna shakes her head, betrayed for the twist of her lips.

"You're still an idiot," she steals his glass taking a long sip and shows him a wicked grin when he fails on his attempt to take it back from her hands. He opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off.

"And stop pretending that you didn't understand my first question."

He watches her for a quick moment. Of course Donna from all people wouldn't let that go.

"I didn't."

She laughs. "You are a terrible liar, Doctor. Come on, spit it out."

"Sorry," he finally takes his glass back from her hands with a triumphant smirk. "But I still didn't get it."

"Oh, please, John!" She shakes her head but then freezes, her eyes widening. "Is she one of your students?"

The Doctor almost chokes on his wine. "No! She is not!" He scowls at her before he adds. "She is my neighbor," he mutters hiding his face behind his glass.

Donna quirks one eyebrow at him and he almost flinches waiting for her next dagger.

"So now you are dating the girl next door? Very cliché, even for you," she says and seems to be really amused by that.

"I'm not dating her," he dramatically rolls his eyes at her. "We are just friends."

She watches him for one moment longer as if her eyes are trying to read his soul, which they probably are.

"You don't have any friends, John."

"I have you and Robert," he says, matter-of-factly.

"We didn't count. We are family," Donna pokes him on the arm and he furrows his eyebrows at her, just for habit because he knows that his cross eyebrows doesn't affect her. As just to prove him right, she pokes him once more.

"Stop it!" He moves away from her just a little bit, shifting on his chair. "Amy and Rory," he adds after another sip.

"Family too," Donna states and he raises his eyebrows at that prompting she to add with a shrug, "Sort of anyway."

 _And so is River_ , he thinks with a sigh, knowing that the thought may have crossed Donna's mind too. They both keep silence for a moment and Donna follows his gaze to meet Clara.

"Friends, huh?" Donna knowing smirk makes him blush instantly and he is grateful for the dim lights at the garden. He would never see the end of that if she finds out that he has blushed.

"Fine," Donna stands and pats his cheek fondly. "Maybe you should do something about that, you know? She seems to be a nice girl," she gives a couple of steps away from him and suddenly turns around, a teasing grin on her face. "Maybe too nice for a old grumpy man like you."

He snorts and Donna laughs, amused, before she walks away to join her husband. He watches them for a moment while she whispers something at Robert's ear that prompts him to smile and pull her by her waist before kissing her lips lightly.

They are still ridiculously happy after all those years and the Doctor likes to think that he is a little responsible because he was the one who had introduced them. He smiles at the memory. Good that Robert had given up on that ghastly mustache years ago.

But then Clara is walking towards him and his eyes follow her until she stops just in front of him.

"Enjoying yourself?" She asks him lightly and takes the sit that Donna had freed just a minute before.

"'Course," he forces his eyes away from her lips. "You?"

"Very much," she steals his glass from his hand, taking a sip before handing it back. He just watches her in astonished silence until a small smile tugs the corners of his mouth upwards.

"What is with you lot tonight?" He grabs his glass almost possessively to refill it.

"My lot?" She furrows her brows but there is a humorous spark on her eyes when she looks at him.

"Yeah. You. Women," he makes a large motion with his arm around them. "Is this a kind of let's steal the Doctor's wine party?"

Clara laughs and he knows that he shouldn't feel like that, but it is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard and he can't control the beating of his heart. It is so loud that he fears that she can hear it.

* * *

"Do you think he has any idea of what he is doing?" Robert asks her after a moment watching his brother in law and Clara at the other side of the garden. Donna follows his gaze and shakes her head after a moment.

"Nah. Not even a clue," she makes a face and Robert chuckles. "You know him, poor old Doctor. He has always been rubbish at this," she adds with a pitied grin.

"Yeah. She seems to be nice, though," he cocks an eyebrow at her. "You don't think we are

heading to another Missy hurricane, do you?"

"Oh, no! For Christ sake, don't make me remember that," Donna grimaces and says after a moment, her eyes still trained on Clara and the Doctor. "Clara is a good person, I can feel it. And something tells me that she can be exactly what that old fool of my brother needs. Although I have this feeling that none of them has a hint about this yet."

* * *

"I think you owe me a good explanation, _John_ ," she spits just after he gives the directions to the taxi driver. The way she stresses his name is enough for him to know that she had been politely holding that back the entire evening.

"For what?" He glances at her warily, eyebrows knitting together in slight confusion.

"Bringing me to the wedding anniversary dinner of your sister without a word before, for example," she stares at him and waits for his explanation, but nothing comes. What can he tell her anyway? He still doesn't understand what kind of power she has over him that prompts him to do things like that. So he huffs with his best indignant face.

"You had fun, hadn't you?"

"Yes," she almost smiles but then she seems to remember that she should be cross at him and the smiles vanishes from her face, quickly replaced by a forced stern look. "But that's not the point."

"Well, from my point of view you just had a great time, dancing and flirting with the great Jack Harkness," his voice is harsh and the words just slip from his lips before he can stop them.

Clara stares at him again with a look that screams idiot all over her face and he can't agree more with her. Sometimes he wonders if his mouth has a life of its own.

"Seriously?" Clara rolls her eyes at him and looks away, hiding her hands under her tights.

He suppresses a sigh and runs a hand through his curls. He knows that one day he had been better at it, relating, befriending or whatever is called this thing there is between them, but some old scars never heals completely. So he tries again.

"Would you have come if I had told you?" He asks her softly.

"Probably not," she mumbles after a moment, perhaps realizing that he has a good point. When she raises her eyes at him, he feels part of his tension going away.

"See? And you would have lost all the fun," he can't refrain a smug smirk that earns him a stern glare from her. But he sees the little treacherous smile tugging at the corners of her lips and presses his luck further. "Not to mention my adorable nieces."

That seems to do the trick and this time she really smiles. "They are really adorable."

"Yes, they are," he smiles too but is caught of guard when she punches his arm. "Oi! What was that for?" He rubs the sore spot, eyebrows furrowed.

"For not telling me that we were coming to your sister's. And for not dancing with me," she adds after a quick moment.

"Believe me, you should be grateful for the last," he grumbles still rubbing his arm and turns his face to look through the window.

After a long silent moment he feels her eyes upon him and slowly turns his head unsure of what he will find when his eyes meet hers. She is watching him with curiosity, her eyes taking him in for a moment.

"What?"

"Don't tell me you don't know how to dance."

"'Course I do. My feet don't," he complains and the sound of her laughter puts a smile back on his lips.

They don't talk much for the rest of the way, but there is a confortable silence between them. She seems to be in a lighter mood when they get out of the taxi and climb the staircase side by side until her front door. And then, they both remember about the missing keys.

"Oh, yeah. I had completely forgot about that," he disappears inside his flat to come back a minute later with a smug smile and a set of keys hanging between his thumb and forefinger.

She looks at him in confusion. "What is this?"

"Spare keys," he announces satisfied with his cleverness but his smile falters when he sees the furrowed brows on her face.

"Spare keys?" She shifts on her spot seeming uneasy. "For my place?"  
"Yes," now that she is looking at him like that, he is no longer sure if that was a clever choice.

"Why on Earth do you have the keys for my flat?" She gives a couple of steps towards him, shortening the distance between them, her lips pursed on a thin line.

"Uh, well," he stutters, unsure of what to say, "It is not exactly the keys for your place, it's for Owen's."

"Owen?" She approaches him a little more, invading his personal space this time. "Who the hell is Owen?"

"The former tenant," he scratches the back of his neck and explains when she continues to stare at him with a cross expression on her face. "He was totally clumsy and was always loosing things... Keys included. So he gave me a set just in case..."

She takes the keys from his hand, abruptly, and he feels it almost like a bite on his cold fingers.

"You are telling me that you have this keys since we first met and you never thought about telling me about it or giving it to me?"

"I thought you had changed the lock!" He steps back trying to regain control of the situation, still not getting this is a big deal. Because it seems to be a big deal by the way her eyes seem bigger than ever now. Like they are out of control.

"You knew about the keys _before_ you dragged me to your sister's!" She almost yells.

"Yes," he mutters, thinking that she seems to be on the verge of slapping him, which fortunately she doesn't do. "But you said that you had fun and-"

"That's not the point!" Now she is really close to him and even on her tiptoes he needs to look down to see her face, ignoring the pain on his neck. She presses a menacing finger on his chest. "The point is that you have never mentioned the keys before. It never crossed your mind that I might want to choose what to do tonight? Not to mention how creepy is some one having the key to my house without my consent. You are not a stalker, are you?"

"'Course I'm not!" He steps back again, and glares at her, utterly offended. How can she think that about him?

Clara stares at him for a long moment and he just can't read her, unless her clear anger in her eyes. Without any other word, she then turns on her heels, opens her door and slams it shut on his face, not giving him any chance to say anything else.

He groans and runs a hand through his face in frustration. Taking a deep breath, he knocks at her door.

"Go away," says her angry voice coming from the other side. "Clara, open the door, please. I just didn't think that-"  
"You lied to me."  
"I didn't lie to you! This is just absurd! I didn't-"

She cuts him off once more. "Exactly! You didn't. You should've told me but you didn't. It's practically a lie."

"It's not!" That is starting to sound childish. He clears his throat and tries once more, his voice soft. "Clara, please."

"Go home."

"But-"

"Doctor, just go. Ok?"

He presses his forehead against the cool wooden door.

"I will see you on the morning, right? For coffee?"

He waits for her answer, for a sound, even for a shoe or something else thrown against the door, but nothing comes.

"Clara?"

Still, the silence remains and he struggles with the urge to slam his head on the door. As usual, he is still brilliant at ruining things. It's no wonder that he hasn't any real friends.

He hesitates before knocking again at her door, his hand hovering in front of the wooden object. Then he sighs heavily and slowly walks back to his flat. Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow he can fix it. He has to do it. He hasn't the faintest idea of how. But he will. Try. At least.


	4. Chapter 4

_First, many thanks to **misswinterseat** , for her help and lovely feedbacks about this chapter! It really meant a lot to me! _

_Also, thank to all of you for reading, for all the kudos and lovely comments.  
And finally, I know it took me too long to update, but I was out for a couple of days in a family holiday. _

_I hope you enjoy, and please keep sending me your feedback!_

* * *

Next morning he sits at his kitchen and just stares at his front door, waiting for a knock he for sure knows won't come, but he stubbornly keeps hoping for it anyway. He has already discarded the idea of going to her door first; he doesn't want her to think he is too keen and give her the wrong impression.

He chews his thumb, eyes still fixed at the door, waiting for a miracle. But then, if she doesn't come (as she surely won't, why does he continue to lie to himself?), the other option is to wait for a chance encounter. Which is not a hard thing to happen since she lives next door, it is obvious they will meet again, perhaps today or even tomorrow. So, why not leave it all to fate?

He hides his face in both of his hands and groans. Of course, not! She will think he is aloof, to say the least, and surely will have the worst impression about his feelings for her.

He freezes at his own thought, eyes widening in surprise. _Feelings_? Now this is new. Since when has he feelings for her? Friendship at the most, because any other thing is just madness, right? They barely know each other and she is so much younger than him and... Fuck. That's it. He is finally getting nuts.

The sound of a closing door on the outside takes him out of his reverie and he jumps on his feet to see her at the hallway. It's not hard to notice that she is still angry with him by the way she so fiercely keeps ignoring him while she locks her door. It takes him a long and awkward moment to react.

"You didn't come," he finally says, watching her fumbling with her keys, "for coffee, I mean."

"How very perceptive of you," she says under her breath, angrily tossing her keys inside of her purse, still not looking at him. He rolls his eyes at her, the words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them.

"Oh, please, spare me of your poor sarcasm, Clara."

That prompts her to shot her head up abruptly, her dark eyes burning holes on his skin.

"Is this your way of apologizing in front of me?" When he keeps silence, searching for words that never come, she adds with a shake of her head: "Because frankly, you are doing a very poor job."

He runs a hand through his curls. She is not making that easy for him, not that he had really expected that.

"Clara, I-"

"I'm late," she cuts him off and turns on her heels, stomping towards the staircase just to make clear how much she is still angry. And only that makes something boil inside of him.

"Oh, fuck! This is getting ridiculous!" He moves quickly and grabs her by her wrist turning her around with more force than he intends. That is enough to make her lose her balance and forces him to hold her by her waist to prevent her of falling while she uses her free hand to stabilize herself at the steadier thing she can reach, which happens to be his chest.

And it is just like that that Clara ends up in his arms, one hand close to his heart, eyes staring at him in a mixture of anger, surprise and something else that he would rather ignore.

He expects her to push him away, to slap him or even to yell angry words at him, but he never expects her to just stay inside his embrace, her big brown eyes softening to lock on his and unceremoniously steal the air from his lungs. His gaze moves down to slowly trace the gentle curve of her lips, which part just slightly as if in anticipation, and he knows that he is on the verge of losing control, the urge of kissing her almost unbearable.

But he hesitates, dwelling between that strange force that keeps pulling him to her and the list of reasons of why this is not a good idea. He thinks that she probably feels his heart racing inside his chest because her fingers move weakly over his chest, her fingertips burning his skin even over the fabric of his t-shirt. His eyes move back to hers and, oh, God, he doesn't know how to resist her as she keeps looking at him like that. He lowers his head just a fraction. Maybe he doesn't want to resist anymore. Maybe he just wants to surrender.

But the unexpected sound of someone stumbling up the stairs just behind them, make them both move apart from each other instantly. He looks over his shoulder to find out Rory staring at them with beet red faces and mouth opened as if he has just forgotten how to speak.

"Pond," the Doctor says after a too long silent moment, running a hand through his curls in frustration, not able to decide yet if the interruption was a prayed miracle or a damned curse.

"Doctor," Rory manages to mumble, looking everywhere but him and the Doctor decides that it is time to retreat before things can be more awkward. Before he closes his door, he still casts a hopeful glance at Clara, but she doesn't see it, eyes wandering between the floor and a still flabbergasted Rory.

* * *

Clara leans against the wall feeling that her knees can give up at any moment as she tries to understand what has just happened. In one moment they are arguing and she is throwing angry daggers at him and at the next the world stops spinning and he is about to kiss her. Because he was, wasn't he? Or has she just imagined the entire thing?

She closes her eyes for just a second to collect herself, grateful that it is Rory who is standing in

front of her and not Amy. Clara loves the red haired, but she is not sure if she would be able to deal with her right now. Not after that. Whatever _that_ had been.

By the way Rory is looking at the tips of his shoes as if they are the most interesting things at the entire universe, she can say that he has gotten that all-wrong (does he?). Funny thing that Rory seems to be the most embarrassed of them both.

"'Morning," she forces a smile, trying to break the uneasiness, because, as she starts telling herself, she has nothing to hide or to be ashamed of or concerned about or...

"Hi," Rory's voice sounds unsure at the hallway and Clara forces her attention back to him. He looks at his hands for a moment as if he is deciding what to do with them until he shoves them into his trouser's pockets, finally looking at her. "I was... I am..."

"It is not what you are thinking," her mouth blurts out before she can stop it. He is startled by her words and Clara bits the inside of her cheek. And now, of course, Rory can only be sure that whatever that is or was, it is exactly what he thinks it is.

"Right, I mean..." Rory scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm not sure what I'm really thinking about right now, so..." Strangely, he manages to be even more flustered and Clara starts to worry about his health when he continues. "Oh, well, you see, I forgot to buy sugar," he finally says.

Clara knits her eyebrows in a little confusion, still trying to get over the discomfort between them."Sugar?" She echoes dumbly.

"Yeah," he makes a grimace. "Amy always does the shopping, but since she is travelling, I should've bought it, but... Anyway, I came to see if you could-"

"Oh! Sure," she doesn't let him finish the sentence when realization strikes her and hastily opens her door to run to her kitchen and put an end to that torture as quickly as possible. He is still standing awkwardly at the hallway when she comes back a couple of seconds later. "Here," she hands him a mug with sugar and he smiles coyly.

"Thanks," he looks at her for a moment and opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, like a fish, before he speaks again. "Well, I'd better go," he points the stairs with his thumb and Clara knows that there is something else at the tip of his tongue that he has just given up to speak.

"Right," she smiles and watches while he walks hesitantly towards the stairs. But then he turns around and looks her straight in the eyes sustaining her gaze for a long moment, something that he doesn't do so often.

"You know," he starts and when she thinks that he has given up again he continues. "It's really none of my business, but, Clara, please be careful. Ok?"

Clara opens her mouth to say that she doesn't have the faintest idea of what he is talking about, which is not entirely a lie because it seems obvious to her that Rory knows the Doctor much better than she does. But the honesty of his tone makes her give up of her pretense ignorance even knowing that she will probably regret it later when Amy will come to torture her and try to extract an inexistent confession from her.

"I always am, Rory," she says and sustains his gaze. He seems to be satisfied with that and with a bashful grin, finally runs downstairs.

* * *

They don't see each other for a couple of days, and Clara starts to think that maybe the Doctor is deliberately avoiding her. But how she can blame him when she also hasn't made any effort to meet him and keeps thoroughly ignoring their morning coffees, not because she is still angry with him, but because she is angry with herself. He mightn't have been completely honest with her, but she knows that she has overreacted and shouldn't have been so much affected by that. But some old wounds can still hurt when people push certain boundaries.

The problem is that she can't stop thinking about him, their argument and _that_ other thing that almost happened. Rory's peculiar warning also crosses her mind sometimes, but after a while she decides to ignore it for good. She has already too much on her mind to worry about that too.

Now, while she wanders around the supermarket, her eyes searching the place for a glimpse of something (or someone) that can't be found at the shelves, she keeps lying to herself that she is there only to refill her fridge. It has nothing to do with the fact that the Doctor usually does his shopping every Thursday on his way back home, after work.

After some time walking around, she is conscious of the suspicious looks she is earning from the supermarket employees and finally gives up. It is just ridiculous that she, being a grown woman, can't be able to fix that just by knocking at his door.

Then, she sees him, his unmistakable slender form standing at the vegetables section. He doesn't see her and she hides herself behind a shelf to think about what to do next. Moving quickly, she stops in front of the dairy section, just a couple of feet from where he stands and pretends to be very interested at the yogurts while she keeps him in sight with the corner of her eye.

He is still at the same place, eyebrows furrowed at his typical secret battle against the vegetables. It would make her laugh at any other moment, but not now, when she can barely control her fidgety hands and the fluttering sensation at her stomach.

Then he finally raises his eyes and pushes his shopping cart forward but stops on his track as soon as he sees her. He seems to hesitate in approaching her and just stands there, staring at her for a unnerving too long moment that makes her want to kick him out of his stupor, until she finally gives up waiting for him.

"Lost something?" She says in a soft tone, not daring to look at him yet, but her words sounds too petulant even for her.

He straightens still at her words and eyes her suspiciously. "Sorry, what?"

"Because it seems so," she slowly lifts her head to cautiously meet his eyes, "by the amount of time you have been there, staring at me like this," she motions her hand pointing at his face and he furrows his brows.

"I wasn't staring," his jaw tenses and his tone is cold, but there is something at the blue of his eyes that tells her a completely different story that makes her think that maybe they can fix this. She just has to press the right buttons, which is the real problem, because this man has the ability to completely confound her.

But now, looking at those impossible eyes of his, she decides to take her chances. So she quirks an eyebrow at him and that has the desired effect because he finally approaches her.

"Maybe I was," he shrugs, blue eyes peering at her face with uncertainty while she keeps searching for the right words. But there is no easy way to go on. After a moment, they both speak almost simultaneously.

"I'm sorry."

That makes their eyes lock into each other's, surprise written on their faces. Clara bites her lower lip to hide a smile and can swear that she sees one tugging on the corner of his mouth. She opens her mouth to speak again but he prevents her raising his hand before he says.

"Look, I'm... I'm really not good with this."Her eyebrows knit together in slight confusion. " _This_?"

"People," he explains and scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed, his cheeks flustering a little.

"Maybe," she says softly, surprisingly unable to move her eyes away from him despite the shaking of her hands. "But I wouldn't go that far."

"You wouldn't?" He defensively shoves one hand inside his trouser pocket and keeps the other one grabbing the shopping cart, probably with more force than necessary by the white on his knuckles.

"No," she shakes her head. "You are quite unconventional. But not bad."

"No?" There is a shadow of doubt in his eyes, as if he still expects her to throw daggers at him at any moment.

"No," she attempts to smile. His eyes soften making her let out a breath she hasn't noticed she has been holding and then she adds, coyly. "Besides, I have my share of guilt at the matter."

He seems to consider her words for a moment, his eyes taking her in before he speaks again. "Maybe," a hint of a dimple shows in one cheek as the corner of his mouth curls up.

His eyes are gentle and she sustains his gaze, unable to fight the spell that the blue of them seem to cast over her. The initial awkwardness is replaced by something else, warming, alluring and also frightening that neither of them dare to name it and rather to just let it be, hanging and floating around them in that silent moment they share.

Then, she finally extends her hand to him, a coy smile pushing its way out of her lips. "So, friends?"

He glances at her hand and with a bashful smile, shakes it, his eyes once more searching for hers.

"Friends."

"Good," she allows herself to smile openly now. "But you still owe me something."

"Do I?" He raises one expressive eyebrow and she slowly nods, trying to ignore the warm of his hand still holding hers. "And what is it that I _owe_ you, Miss Oswald?"

"A proper dinner out," she says with a cheeky smile and when he looks at her in an awkward silence she thinks that maybe she has gone too far. "As friends, I mean," she adds quickly and feels her cheeks burning.

It takes him an instant to answer, but when he does, that bashful smile she adores is back on his lips.

"Fair enough," he says before his gaze falls to their still joined hands as if just now he has noticed

it. He blinks and slides his hand off hers gently, his fingers brushing hers softly on their leaving. "Besides, that is what friends do, right?"

"Sure," she nods and unconsciously stretches her fingers, already missing the contact of his skin on hers.

"So, it is a date," his smile freezes and he blushes instantly, clearing his throat. "As friends, I mean." He presses his lips together thinking and tilts his head. "Tomorrow night? Is it good?"

"Tomorrow is perfect," she ventures a smile and he rewards her with one of his own, eyes locked on her, making something shift deep inside her chest.

"It is settled then," he adds in a teasing tone. "Can I choose the place?"

She manages to roll her eyes at him playfully, but adds in the same mocking tone. "As long as it doesn't involve family parties..."

* * *

They walk back home together and he insists on carrying her shopping bags, filled with random items that she had tossed in a hurry at her shopping cart after he had told her that he would wait for her.

He is still in his work clothes, too handsome for his own good in an impeccable suit with a blue shirt that highlights the color of his eyes, buttons closed to the top. She can't avoid the thought of how it would be to open it button after button to slide her hand over his chest and a heat rises on her cheeks almost instantly. As if he can read her mind, he shows her a lopsided smile, sparkling eyes locked on her while he holds the building's door open for her.

She swallows hard. He claims to be hopeless with people, but it is impossible that he doesn't know the effect he has on her when he looks at her like that, blue eyes burning holes on her skin. Besides, by the way her cheeks are hot, it must be pretty obvious for anyone that can see her right now.

His eyebrows rise a little when she doesn't move and she has to force her legs to walk, only then noticing that she has been staring dumbly at him the entire time, which makes her blush even more.

He follows her immediately and grins when their eyes meet again prompting her to smile back because it is impossible not to do it, even if her mind is still racing with her confused thoughts about him.

"Hello. You two," the familiar voice breaks the spell and they see Amy standing at the hall with a small smile on her lips that they both pretend to ignore. But before any of them can answer her, she glances quickly at her watch and adds, opening the door of her flat. "Sorry, but I'm in a hurry right now, so we talk some other time, right? See you, guys," she winks at them and then disappears behind her door without giving them any chance to say a word.

He is still staring at Amy's closed door when Clara looks back at him and shrugs. "Oh, well, you know Amy," she says and walks away, climbing the stairs.

It takes him a couple of seconds more to move and he catches up with her at the staircase with three long strides.

They finally stop at her front door and he hands her the bags for what she thanks him.

"So, will I see you tomorrow morning? For coffee?"

She studies his face for an instant.

"Do you want me to come?"

"'Course I do," he states firmly prompting her to smile.

She opens her door and tilts her head, finally answering his question. "'Course I will."

He nods slowly and the gleam that crosses his eyes make her heart to race in her chest.

"Goodnight, Clara."

"'Night, Doctor."

She is still leaning against her closed door trying to make sense of everything that has just happened when her phone buzzes with a message. Amy. Of course. Wasn't she travelling?

"You and the Doctor, huh? I'll be there in 20."

Clara drops the bags on the floor and groans before typing her answer.

"I thought you were busy. Because I am."

Amy's response is quick, almost as if she already had it ready just waiting to press the send button.

"So unbusy yourself. Twenty minutes."

Clara knows that she won't get out of that easily. When had she come back anyway?

"Unbusy is not even a word!"

"19 now, Teach."

Oh, fuck, Clara thinks carrying her bags to her kitchen. That will be something.

* * *

As soon as the door closes behind his back, he kicks off his shoes and throws his jacket over the couch, his head still spinning with the image of her smile.

He places the bags at the kitchen counter and walks to his bathroom to wash his hands, eyes fixed on his own reflex in the mirror. It shouldn't be so easy like that, just a flash of her dimples a look into those brown eyes of hers and he is doing things he has promised himself never to do anymore. He ruffles his hair with both hands and groans.

Ok, so dinner, tomorrow night, it will be. It has to be at a nice place, nothing too posh, but with good food, good wine, where they can talk properly. It had been ages since he has dinner out with someone else, but he thinks that he knows a place she will like.

Slowly he pulls his shirt out of his trousers and unbuttons it, walking back to the kitchen to store his purchases, his mind whirling with mixed feelings and disorganized thoughts. Does she like wine? He can't remember her mentioning it before. Well, he will find out tomorrow.

He opens the last bag to find some apples and yogurts that don't belong to him, so it must be Clara's, he must have mixed up the bags. He doesn't even think about changing, she has already seen him in the pajamas bottoms and worn-out t-shirts he wears to sleep. So, he walks at the hallway to knock on her door in his socks, ignoring the cold floor under his feet.

"Come in, the door is unlocked!" Her voice coming from the other side of the door surprises him, but he does it anyway and opens her door to peek inside hesitantly and find her nowhere to be seen.

Closing the door behind him, her voice sounds once again, coming from her bedroom.

"I really can't imagine what it is so urgent that you can't wait for tomorrow," she says sounding a bit annoyed. "And since you really want to do this right now, you will have to wait for me to take a shower."

Before he can say a word, her bedroom door opens to reveal her petit figure wrapped inside a fluffy white towel. The smile on her face just freezes at the same time that her eyes widen as if they will pop up from their sockets at any moment.

This is certainly the last thing he expects and he can't avoid his own eyebrows to shot up to almost reach his hairline. The realization that she is obviously naked under that towel makes him blush, but doesn't stop him to slowly run his eyes along her form. But it is the feeling of her gaze also on him, looking at the unusual show of bare skin through his open shirt that makes him uneasy. Especially because he can swear that her eyes sparkle with something more than curiosity. He swallows hard, but doesn't have time to elaborate much more about it because she suddenly seems to have been stroke by a lightning bolt.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Her voice is strained and she hides herself behind the door peeking out to cast him an astonished look. Her actions cause him to turn around so quickly that he almost bumps at the wall, as the words seem to fail him. Why do things have always be so awkward between them?

"I just... I... Oh, fuck! You invited me in!" He finally says, arms opening in exasperation while he keeps his back at her.

"I thought you were Amy!" She snaps, her voice two octaves higher.

"Well, it is pretty obvious that I'm not!" He rolls his eyes even if she can't see it. "You should be more careful! What if it was some loony?"

"I'm still not sure if it isn't," she huffs in indignation and he quickly glares at her over his shoulder just to make her jump back behind the door.

"Oh, well. Hello. Again."

Now it is Amy. The ginger looks at them with an amused smile and he is pretty sure that they are quite a vision: he is his disheveled state and Clara wrapped in her towel. He opens his mouth to say something but gives up because there is nothing that he wants to explain to Amy. Not while she looks at him with that knowing smile on her lips.

So he practically stomps towards Amy showing her a deadly glare that obviously doesn't affect her by the way she raises her eyebrows at him. When she makes a mention to speak he immediately prevents her by the raise of one menacing forefinger, eyebrows knit together forming one weird hairy line.

"Don't. Just. Don't," he brushes past her to get out through the door but suddenly turns around to shove the plastic bag at her hands before he disappears to the hallway one last time.

* * *

Amy looks back at Clara, still standing at her bedroom door with a stunned look on her face.

"You two are really quick," Amy says, closing the door with a wicked smile on her face.

"Oh, shut up!" Clara scolds, but that only seems to amuse Amy even more.

"So, Clara Oswald, I leave the city for a couple of days and you start to shag the Doctor!"

"I'm not shagging him!"

Amy quirks one eyebrow at her. "That is why you were busy?"

"I'm not..." Clara groans. "Oh, fine! I'm going for a shower. We talk after."


	5. Chapter 5

_**First many thanks to misswinterseat for all her help and support!**_

 _ **And then, sorry guys, I know it took me like a lifetime to finish this chapter, but here it is. Hope you'll enjoy it!**_  
 _ **As usual, please, send me your comments! I always love to hear your opinion, guys!**_

* * *

Amy is sitting cross-legged at the couch, browsing at her phone when she crosses her living room straight to her kitchen.

"So, where have you been anyway? And when did you come back?" Clara opens her fridge in search of something to eat. "Hungry?"

Amy giggles.

"Glasgow, this afternoon and, yes, I'm starving," the ginger joins her at the kitchen and leans against the counter with a smirk. "Nice try, Oswald. But you won't get out of this so easy."

"Pasta?" Amy nods and Clara lets out a resigned sigh before she adds, "Never thought I would."

"So, something you want to tell me?"

"No, not really," she puts a couple of things over the counter and fills a pan with water which she hands to Amy to place it at the stove.

"Come on, I saw you two grinning like two idiots at each other. Not to mention the little _thing_ I must've interrupted earlier."

"You didn't interrupt anything. I thought it was you and asked him to come in, which, surprise of the surprises, he did!" Clara practically hisses which earns her a lifted eyebrow, forcing her to take a deep breath before she continues in a calmer tone. "We are just friends, Amy."

Clara tries to focus on her task of chopping the tomatoes and, when Amy remains in silence, she makes the mistake of raising her head just in time to see the mischievous grin on her friend's face.

"Do you fancy him?" Amy's question is the same one it has been haunting Clara's thoughts for some time now. A question for what she doesn't have an answer. Or that she'd rather ignore.

There is a moment of silence before Amy speaks again. "I won't blame you. He can be quite a charmer, you know. Even when he doesn't have the faintest idea of what he is doing. Probably mostly because of that," she adds with a small smile.

Clara is about to open her mouth to defend her current state of denial when something else crosses her mind and makes her uneasy.

"What?" Amy asks when Clara keeps staring at her for a long moment, a look of suspicion on her face.

"Do you?" Clara gives a step towards Amy.

"Do I what?" Amy's eyes widen and she steps back.

"Fancy him. That's what all this fuss about? Are you jealous, Amy Pond?"

Amy almost chokes and looks at her completely flabbergasted, eyes so open that threaten to pop out of their sockets. "'Course not! I'm married! Besides, he is my uncle!"

"He is your...Wait? What?" This time it's Clara who looks at her with eyes wide open, completely baffled.

"Uncle," Amy repeats slowly and shrugs. "Well, actually, he was."

When she keeps looking at her blankly, Amy decides that that needs an extra explanation.

"He is my aunt River ex-husband."

That only makes Clara's jaw fall down and it takes her a moment more to react to this new piece of information while she keeps staring at Amy.

"You mean River... as in Professor River Song?" Amy nods, but Clara is still too astonished with the revelation to digest it so easily. "The Archeologist, from the TV Show?"

"Yep," Amy nods once more, slowly, her amused eyes trained on Clara. "Come on, I have already told you that she is my aunt!"

"Yeah... You only forgot to mention that the Doctor was her husband!" Clara hisses, twisting her fingers nervously.

" _Ex_ -husband. And, well, I never thought it would be so relevant!" Amy's eyes study her face cautiously for an instant before she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "So, it got you that bad, huh?"

That seems to shake Clara out of her bewilderment and she rolls her eyes at the other girl. "He is my friend, my neighbor! We talk, drink coffee together and once in a while I let him carry my shopping bags. That's all there is to know about me and the Doctor, Amy."

Amy's eyes narrow a little while she observes her and Clara keeps telling herself that she is not lying to her friend. She is just omitting pieces of information that won't help her to prove her point, like the fact that he took her to his sister's or that they will go out for dinner tomorrow. Or that she makes him coffee because his coffeemaker is broken. She only hopes that Amy won't pick at that little bit that slipped about it, because, frankly, how to explain that without sounding like the poorest excuse to keep seeing someone else?

"Ok, if you say so," Amy finally shrugs and opens the pasta package that she had given her, pouring its contents inside the boiling water pan.

She knows that she should be relieved that Amy dropped the matter so easily, but this is so not Amy that Clara almost can't refrain herself of asking " _what if, what if I really fancy him?_ "

But then Amy is laughing and telling her about her trip to Glasgow, the conference she attended there and Clara decides that this is not the right moment to do it. Besides, despite the fact that she really likes his company (she wouldn't please him with fresh coffee every morning otherwise), she doesn't really know if there is really a "what if" in the cards for them. Not yet.

* * *

Two knocks on his door and his heart starts hammering insanely inside his ribcage even before he opens it. She greets him with a coy smile and her big brown eyes look straight into his without warning, stealing the words from his lips. He wants to ask her if they are fine after last night, but he thinks that the earnest look she gives him is answer enough, so he steps aside to let her in and follows her to the kitchen.

He takes one of the stools at the kitchen island and watches her, suddenly aware of the familiarity with her moves around the place, opening the cabinets to get the mugs and the sugar pot. And what surprises him even more is that he is actually fine with that.

She pours them two mugs and puts two sugars in one of it before she hands it to him. He nods a silent thanks and adds three more sugars before he takes a long sip while amused eyes stare at him all the time.

"You know that this can kill you, don't you?"

She seems utterly beautiful this morning, strands of dark brown hair falling from the loose bun on the back of her head, a hint of pink on her cheeks while she pretends to ignore his gaze upon her and he pretends to read his paper.

"My doctor keeps telling me the same thing," he says after another sip, trying hard not to look at her.

"Not enough, apparently," she mutters and approaches his back to peek at the paper over his shoulder, her chin almost touching him while her warm breath tickles the skin on his neck. He practically freezes for an instant and wary eyes glance at her from over his black-rimmed specs. There is an innocent look on her face when she takes the seat next to him, but the hint of a dimple on her cheek tells him that nothing about her movements is as casual as she wants him to think. He forces his eyes back to the paper but he can't read a word, his mind completely absorbed by her presence next to him.

"So? Dinner tonight, then," she finally says while his eyes follow the movement of her finger tracing the rim of her mug.

"Yeah," he allows himself a smile and lifts his eyes to look at her. "You're still on it, aren't you?"

"Sure," she smiles back, sparkling eyes, dimples and all. And how does he love that smile. He forces his eyes back to the paper before he starts to look like a lovesick teenager. He seriously needs to get a grip on himself or he doesn't know how he will survive the night.

"What time?"

"Eight?"

"Ok. And where will you take me?" She tilts her head staring at him, a challenge in the brown of her eyes that he catches from the corner of his.

"Don't put your expectations too high," he says over his mug, "I'm a bit _unconventional_ , you know," a quirk of a thick brow and her face once more lights up in that bright smile of hers before dark eyes roll playfully at him.

"Who can blame me after you'd taken me to your sister's, just like that?"

"And I will never hear the end of this, will I?" He complains, but there is a hint of a smile on the crinkles around his eyes.

"Oh, it all depends on tonight," she states, jumping from her stool and washing her mug. She picks the sugar pot and walks straight to the door without any other word. And he just can't take his eyes off of her, even if his life depended on it.

"Where are you taking my sugar?"

"I'm confiscating it," she grins, triumphantly, placing one hand on the doorknob. He chuckles.

"You do realize that I can simply buy more, don't you?"

She straightens her eyes at him, menacingly. "Yeah, but you won't."

He opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off.

"I'm going now," she smiles and turns on her heels. He can hear her voice from the hallway before the door closes behind her back. "Have a nice day, Doctor."

"Yeah, you too," he says not sure if she has heard him and keeps staring blankly at the door for a moment longer after she leaves.

He sighs. He is so, so in trouble.

* * *

After he finishes his morning lectures he seeks for refuge at his office. On his way, he stops at the cafeteria to buy a sandwich, keeping his plan of burying his nose for the rest of the afternoon at the pile of essays he needs to grade until Monday. But it is an almost naïve expectation. He is too fidgety, too distracted to focus on the work he needs to do, the thought of her invading his mind all the time.

"Christ!" He groans and ruffles his own hair in almost despair. This is ridiculous, it is like his first date ever all over again. And the worst part is that this is not even a real date, because they are just friends, as they both have already clearly established. Certainly he is not the one who will cross this line because it doesn't make any sense, even though the silly fluttering in his chest every time their eyes meet is saying him the contrary. Or maybe, precisely because of that.

There is no happy ending if he starts to walk that path, so he should stop behaving like a silly old man and control his feelings. Not that he really has feelings for her. Or feels that old. But he is perfectly aware that he is probably old enough to be her father.

He grimaces at the thought and takes his specs off, placing them over the desk before he runs a hand across his face. Now, that is not helping at all. He sighs.

The thing is that he doesn't want anyone in his life like that anymore, not after the disaster of his last marriage. He thinks that he is really doing fine all by himself. Besides, he is no fool. Clara is a clever and beautiful young woman who certainly has a legion of blokes running after her. He chews his thumb. Yet, she is going out to dinner with him.

He finally gives up and packs his things knowing that he will have to finish the grading on the weekend, and decides to take a walk back home. It always helps him to clear his thoughts which can be really helpful since he just can't sort his feelings out. Actually he doesn't even want to try. There are some things one must just let rest quiet for sometime. And he knows that this is one of those things. Except that he also knows that it won't happen.

* * *

He knocks at her door ten minutes past eight, just to not look like he is too anxious and she flashes him a soft smile when she steps outside in a black dress that fits the curves of her body just too well.

"Tie?" She lifts her eyebrows at him and his fingers instinctively search for the piece of fabric that hangs around his neck, silently scolding himself once more about his choice of clothes for tonight. But he immediately changes his mind when she approaches to adjust the knot of his tie, his foolish heart jumping at the unexpected brush of her fingers. "There," she pats his arm gently with a smile. "Love it, by the way."

He blinks and watches her dumbly while she turns on her heels and walks towards the staircase in her impossibly high stilettos. He is almost sure that he should make a compliment about her clothes too, but he simply can't come up with anything that won't sound too silly or too cheeky. So, he chooses the silence and, shaking off his stupor, quickly catches up with her to offer her his arm, which she accepts with a graceful smile before they start to go downstairs.

Like the last time, there is a taxi waiting for them at the front door, and he holds the car door open for her to get in. He has chosen an Italian restaurant no too far away from there. It is a small but charming place he used to go, many years ago and he took the care of checking it on the Internet before he called to make the reservation. Last thing he wanted was to be surprised by a non- existent or decadent place, but he was very pleased to find out the place still stood and had thousands of good reviews.

He tells his name to the men at the front desk and a couple of minutes later a waiter escort them to their table. He walks a step behind Clara, absentmindedly placing his hand on the small of her back while he takes in the place around them: candle lights, delicate flowers, soft music on the background. He bites the inside of his cheek. They have redecorated, he can't remember the place like that. Maybe he should've checked more details about the place besides the quality of the food and service.

* * *

It's a nice place the restaurant he takes her and the soft and almost romantic atmosphere surprises her. It's quite unexpected considering the recent relationship boundary they seemed to have established. But nothing surprises her more than the gentle touch of his hand on her back while they follow the waiter to their table. It's like light feather, almost not there, but it is still enough to spread warmth on her skin. She smiles coyly when he steps aside to pull the chair for her and she quickly categorize both gestures as more gentlemanly than affection signs. It is safer this way.

Her eyes follow the waiter when he moves away to give them time to choose. When she looks back, she finds blue eyes watching her with curiosity.

"Hope you like Italian," he says, long fingers tapping lightly over the table. "I really do," she grins. "It is a nice place, by the way."

"Oh, well, it's a bit different from the last time I came here," he blushes in a quite adorable way. "But I think it's just normal, considering that it had been years."

He grins and she grins back realizing now how impossible it's not to do so. She sustains his gaze for a moment and thinks that maybe the spark in the blue of his eyes is just a trick of the light. But, just in case, she decides that the best thing to do is to bury her nose behind the menu and start to breath again.

"So, any suggestion?" She finally asks him, watching him from the corner of her eye.

"Mostly everything they do is really amazing," he says while his eyes search for something in his copy of the menu over the table. "Ah. Here it is. The ravioli. It has always been my favorite," his boyish grin immediately captures her eyes. But this time, she is able to refrain her smile before she starts to look silly. She bites the inside of her cheek. How can he do this to her? How does he dare to do this to her? If he won't order them some wine, she will do it. She definitely needs something much more stronger than water to survive the rest of the night.

She decides to go with his recommendation and tries not to look at him for too long while he orders them food and discusses choices of wine with the waiter. But then, when the waiter walks away, he runs a hand through his hair and immediately her eyes are drawn to his long fingers, making her wonder if those glorious silver curls are so soft as they look like. Her own fingers seem to tingle at the thought and she feels a heat on her cheeks when her eyes meet his.

"So," he looks at her, "how was your day?"

"Good. You know, teaching," she says, because it is the truth, especially if she doesn't think about the huge amount of time she spent thinking about him and their impending not date. "Yours?"

His eyebrows lift just a little. "The same. Teaching," a shadow of a smirk crosses his lips and she considers if he is too hiding something.

But the waiter comes back with their wine and they both watch him in silence while the man takes his time with all that ritual of opening the bottle and pouring the Doctor the first glass for him to taste it. With his approval, the waiter pours her too a glass and vanishes again.

"I'd really like to hear one of your lectures one of these days," she says, their glasses clinking in a toast. She takes a long sip and lets the red liquid dance around her tongue before it goes smoothly down her throat. He is watching her expectantly and she smiles in approval. "It is really good," she adds and sees the corner of his mouth twist up.

"Really?" He lifts one of his formidable eyebrows and for one moment she is not sure if he is asking her about her opinion about the wine or about her previous comment. Maybe he senses it because he adds, before she can say anything. "Do you want to check out my teaching skills?"

"No," a teasing grin flashes on her lips. "Just want to check if you live up to your reputation."

"Ah," he pulls a stern face but the humorous glint in his eyes tells her that he is just teasing her. "My reputation of eating students alive for breakfast or of boring them to death on the very first class?"

She giggles. "Actually, it's quite the opposite."  
His features soften and he almost smiles before he asks her. "Amy?" She nods.

"The girl has a malfunctioning critical sense, you should know that," he rolls his eyes but they both know that that is not true. Amy certainly has a soft spot for her ex-uncle, but Clara knows she is very much capable of distinguish good from bad, even on his case.

"You are very welcome to show up anytime you want, Clara," for a moment longer he watches her before he adds in a mock tone that should be enough to break the awkward silence. "Especially if you are suffering from insomnia. I can promise you a good nap after five minutes."

She is aware of his little joke and knows that she should smile at least, but the way her name sounds on his tongue keeps reverberating inside her. And for a moment, it annoys her that it can affect her that much because, of course, this is not the first time he has said her name. But there is something else about the way he has just said it now, something that she can't exactly put her finger on, but that made her knees weak. Maybe it is the way he keeps looking at her over the rim of his glass of wine, sparkling blue eyes burning holes on her skin. Or maybe it is just her foolish heart playing tricks on her.

He pours her another glass when she hasn't even noticed that hers was already empty. When his gaze falls upon her once more she knows that her heart shouldn't beat like that. Not so soon. So she pushes that feeling back along with those thoughts and tries to come back to their conversation, thanking him with a slight nod of her head.

"Well, I'd like to see you in action," she finally says and he watches her with curiosity, as if trying to find a different meaning behind her words and she prays that he doesn't. Not now.

"As I said, you'll be very welcome," he smiles again and that is not helping at all.

But fortunately, the waiter shows up with their food and gives her some time to compose herself until they are once more alone. The food tastes as good as he has promised and miraculously she manages to keep their talk around harmless things while they eat. They discuss the traffic changes near the place they live, a rumor about an imminent tube strike, the Prime Minister's last announcements. And then, she doesn't know exactly how, she catches herself telling him about her father, her love for books and teaching and her desire to travel to see the world.

He listens her with unveiled interest, saying something here and there, and she is suddenly aware that as usual, she is the one doing most of the talking.

"This is not fair," she says after he pours another glass to himself. They have already finished their meal and he has just filled her glass once more and that comment earns her a raised eyebrow. She smiles, eyes dangerously sustaining his gaze before she adds. "You never tell me a thing about yourself."

"This is because I'm boring. You are far more interesting than me," he states, blue eyes challenging her. She ignores the heat on her cheeks at his implied compliment and goes on, probably a side effect of all the wine she has been drinking.

"I beg to differ," she slowly twirls the red liquid inside her glass and he chuckles. "Really?" He straightens his eyes at her. "Based on what?"

Based on the fact that you caught my attention and I can't stop thinking about you. But that is something she doesn't dare to say. Instead, she tries to lighten up the things a bit.

"Come on, man of mystery," her tease prompts him to knit his brows, but the shadow of a smirk on his lips tells her that it is safe to go on. "Just be nice and indulge me with something."

He seems to consider her words for a moment, eyes on his glass before he looks at her again. "Ok. What do you want to know?"

"Anything?" She is surprised and he just nods, crossing his hands over the table, waiting for her. "Why teaching?"

He scoffs. "You can ask me anything you want, and you come up with this?" The amusement on his tone prevents her to be offended.

"Well, I can always ask you about the guitar you keep on your studio, but I thought in starting with something more simple before we move to the real secrets."

He furrows his brow in slightly confusion and she can't blame him. There was only one time she has been in another part of his flat than the kitchen and he probably doesn't remember it.

"How can you possibly know about that?"

"Once you asked me to pick a towel from the cupboard at your hallway. The studio's door was open and I saw it."

"Oh." The expression on his face tells her that he remembers it now.  
"So?"  
He chews his thumb for a moment, probably thinking whether he should answer her or not. "Being a professor is something recent on my life," he finally says, an unreadable look on his face.

"Don't tell me you were a rock star before?" She lifts a humorous eyebrow that puts a faint smile on his lips. There is something else there that steals the spark from his eyes and she starts to regret having asking him those stupid questions.

"Well, long time ago," he looks up, brows furrowed as if he is trying to remember something, "so much long ago that it seems almost in another life to be honest," he almost smiles, "I wished that I could've been."

She studies his face, but for some reason she knows that this is not the problem. This is safe. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that once I played in a rock band," he lowers his eyes as if he is ashamed of his confession. But the grin is back on his lips, it is coy and small, but it is there. "But we were really, really terrible."

"Do you still play?" He hesitates and she adds with a smile. "I won't make you play to me, don't worry."

"Wise choice," he chuckles. "But no, it has been a long time since I played."

She wants to ask why, but somewhat she feels that it is a delicate matter, so she lets it go. Silence falls upon them, eyes of the one searching for the answers of a thousand unspoken questions inside the others'. Surprisingly, he is the one who breaks the silence, after he empties his glass.

"Go on," he says, assuring her that it is safe to go on.

"What did you do before?" His eyes tell her that that wasn't the question he was expecting for. But now it is too late to withdraw it and despite being surprised, he doesn't seem to regret his

But now it is too late to withdraw it and despite being surprised, he doesn't seem to regret his

previous choice. "Before teaching, I mean."  
"I was a journalist."  
He doesn't give her much, but keeps looking at her waiting for her next question. "And why did you quit?"  
Blue eyes study her face, making her almost uncomfortable.

"You really don't know, don't you?" She opens her mouth to speak but gives in, unsure of what to say. And that it is, that odd expression on his face, something she can't really understand, like a mixture of sadness, bitterness and pain. "But then you were probably just too young to really pay attention to something like that."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"  
His large hand covers her gently and prevents her to continue.

"Don't be. It's not your fault," he lowers his eyes for a moment, but doesn't move his hand, while he seems to think for a moment too long. He finally removes his hand to run it over his face. When he looks at her again, his expression is serious, but there is a raw honesty on his eyes. "I don't want to ruin this night. It is a story too long and too... complicated to tell you here and today."

This time, she reaches out for his hand.  
"You don't need to tell me anything you don't want to."

He slowly nods his thanks and she thinks that she can see a ghost of a smile on the corner of his lips when he moves his hand to hold hers.

* * *

He thinks it is a miracle that they keep talking comfortably after that, more to her credit that to his to be honest. But that is how she is, she carries a light inside her that is able to brighten up the darkest corners of his soul. It is something that he knows about her since the very first time he saw her and he can feel it right now, in the beat of his heart, in the blood running through his veins. And it scares him because he is not sure if he can handle such a force.

She smiles when they stop in front of her door, bright eyes looking at him. She is a bit tipsy, he knows that by the way she'd clung on his arm while they climbed the stairs and he makes a mental note to not let her go so much into the wine next time. He almost chokes at the thought. If there would be another time after that.

The touch of warm fingers on his hand brings him back and big brown eyes stare at him in that way that never fails in make him melt. She approaches him and going on her tiptoes, places a soft kiss on his cheek, her lips a little too close from the corner of his mouth, lingering a little too long than necessary.

"Thank you for the adorable night," she says, finally stepping back, her hand resting on his forearm.

He thinks his heart has just stopped. But it is still not the end. She looks at him and giggles.

"It seems that I've marked you," she says and her delicate thumb brushes over the burning place where her lips have just been, in a weak attempt to remove lipstick stain. He is a mess of feelings and sensations right now and knows that he should tell her that this is not a problem, that she doesn't need to do that, but he just can't.

His eyes are fixed on her and his head moves just a little, enough to his lips brush on her fingers, catching his breath in his throat. And that stops her. He thinks that maybe she is holding her breath too, whatever that can possibly means.

Then she pulls him down by his tie and next thing he knows is the feeling of her lips on his, warm and soft, in a kiss so light that is almost not there. Before he can react, she moves away, flushed cheeks and coy smile, eyes that not quite meet his.

"I-" she stutters and he is confused. "Good night, Doctor," she says quietly attempting to smile before she vanishes behind her closed door leaving him alone in the hallway trying to learn how to breath again.


	6. Chapter 6

He closes the door and takes off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the coach. His long fingers loose the knot of his tie while he walks straight to the kitchen and opens a cabinet door. Inside rests a single bottle of whiskey that he takes with him to his couch. The golden liquid inside seems to mock him, sparkling under the light in a silent challenge.

He contemplates the bottle for a moment before he opens it and takes a long swig. No glasses tonight.

She kissed him. He knows it is true because his lips still burn. And he would've kissed her back if she hadn't moved away so quickly, as if she had immediately regretted it. Which was probably the truth considering the way things had happened. Anyway, why would someone like her be interested in a fucked up old sod like him? So it's just understandable that after some drinking she had just let herself to be carried away by the moment and had kissed him to regret it in the next second.

The thing is that shouldn't hurt that much, he knows. But it does and he can only blame himself for letting his guard down, for letting her come too close to him, breaking a promise he had made to himself some time ago. After...Missy. After she had taken everything from him, making him a shadow of the man he had been one day. It had been a long way back and he always thought that after that he now has a better grip on himself.

He sighs, taking another swig. He should know it better; he should've learnt his lesson by now. Life is shit, business as usual. His life at least.

* * *

An annoying sound wakes him. It is too loud, too persistent, too painful and hammers in his head like a hundred of sledgehammers. He tries to open his eyes, but needs to immediately shut them again because the light coming through the windows is too bright and it hurts too much. A low groan escapes from his lips.

Slowly he opens his eyes shielding them with his hand. He is lying on his couch. At least he thinks it is his couch, he can't be sure because the room keeps spinning around him and everything is just a blur. Besides, that infuriating noise is still there and it is driving him crazy.

He runs a hand through his face and takes a couple of deep breaths before he tries once more to lift his head. The room is still spinning, much more slow now, thanks God, and it is enough for him to be sure that this is fortunately his living room and his own couch.

There is something vibrating inside his trouser pockets and he puts his hand inside to find his phone, which is also the origin of that horrible sound. He would scowl at it if his head weren't hurting so much. So he just looks at the offending object in defeat, but then it suddenly stops ringing.

He finally manages to sit when the room stops spinning. He feels terrible, his stomach churns and his head hurts, the empty whiskey bottle on the floor tells him the whole history of his last night. Idiot.

He is still on his clothes from yesterday and must look like a crumpled old tramp. Good that there is no one here to see him. The thought awakes again that pressure in his chest and he lets out a heavy sigh escape his lips, promising himself that he will never buy another bottle of whiskey so soon. He desperately needs a bath and a glass of water, lots of water. But the numbness of his body doesn't allow him to move.

A glance on his phone tells him that Donna must be mad with him right now. There are at least a dozen of unanswered calls from her, so there is probably something he should be doing or someplace he should be by now.

He sighs and looks again at his phone. He needs to call her to at least let her know that he is alive. Oh, well, more or less. After he takes some aspirins he throws himself back to the couch and makes the call. Fortunately, it is Robert who answers the phone and he breathes in relief.

"Hey, mate. Happy you are fine," Robert makes a pause and adds, when he doesn't say a word, "Are you ok, Doctor?"

"I am," he pinches the bridge of his nose trying to control his nausea. "Hangover?"

"The worst in decades," he suppresses a moan, his head hurting really bad just from the effort of speaking. A low chuckle sounds at the other side of the line. "And Donna?"

"Torn between call the police or hire a professional sniper to go after you."

He would smile at that if it wouldn't hurt so much, an image of his red haired little sister fuming clear on his mind.

"What did I miss?"

"Oh, so is it that bad?" Robert chuckles. "Lunch. But you still can compensate things getting here for dinner." The Doctor groans and Robert adds, laughter in his voice when he says. "And I truly recommend you to do it, if you have any appreciation for your precious life."

"Right," he sighs, defeated, "Can I talk to her?"

"Sure that you want to do it?"

"Better calm her down before I get there, right?"

"Good point. Give me just a minute."

But it doesn't take so long for him to hear the sharp voice of his sister through the phone, making him move it away from his ear before his head just explodes.

"I thought you were dead! You bloody idiot!"

"Sorry," he says, struggling against the pain, "I'll be there for dinner, ok?"

"You better be."

\- 0 – 0 -

She should be happy, Clara knows that. Or at least not unhappy. They had a most perfect dinner, a lovely time together. Even though, that feeling of uneasiness keeps surrounding her as if it wants to get a grip on her heart.

Everything would've been perfect if not for that last bit, the part where she kissed him and he didn't move a single muscle, as if too shocked to even pull away. So she starts to regret the kiss and counts it as one more of her colossal mistakes. Not because she didn't want to kiss him. No, on the contrary, she certainly wanted. She still wants to be honest. No, she regrets it because she is almost sure that he didn't want it to happen.

Can she be reading his signs all-wrong? All the stolen glances, the smiles, the way his eyes sparkle and his cheeks blush, is everything unintentional, is everything a big misunderstanding? Christ, she doesn't know. And she hates not knowing.

She would knock at his door if it wouldn't make her seem too needy, too clingy or too creepy, depending of his thoughts about last night. So she decides to wait for him to take the next step. And if nothing happens, she will always have the excuse of the coffee on Monday morning to test the waters again.

But the weekend is long and merciless, as if time starts to go in slow motion just to unnerve her.

When Amy invites her to go to a bar with them, she immediately accepts, even if going out on Sunday evening is not really her thing when she has to work next morning. But it is a perfect distraction after two days of absolutely no words from the Doctor, which is almost ridiculous since the guy lives just next door.

Anyway, she goes with them, the Ponds as the Doctor calls them. The place belongs to some random Amy and Rory's old friend and it seems that there will be a band of another friend playing. Perfect fun for a Sunday night, Amy assures her and Clara just hopes that she is right, because she really needs some fun.

\- 0 – 0 -

He finds refuge at an empty booth at the back of the bar and once more thinks in how Donna has convinced him to come, because, frankly this is just ridiculous. It is her revenge for the missed

lunch of the day before because that bloody hangover: accompany Robert at this gig he has to play at Jack Harkness' bar since Donna herself can't be here because one of the girls is infected by some bug, that kind kids have all the time.

So, here he is, pathetically nursing a glass of orange juice in a crowed bar to keep an eye on his brother-in-law, with no one else to blame but his guilty conscious.

But now that he is here, he has to admit that he almost likes the idea of listening to them, Robert and his old band mates making a gig. He smiles. It's almost like the old times when they use to play together. Well, not quite like that, since he is not the one on the vocals and guitar tonight, not by lack of attempts from Robert in convincing him to play. He just doesn't play anymore, at least not in front of people, any people to be honest.

The guitarist gets the wrong chords of the T-Rex song they are playing and the Doctor makes a grimace. The boy has a nice voice, but his guitar skills are a menace to anyone who knows a little bit about music, although he doubts that anyone in the bar, except him maybe, really cares about this right now.

And then he feels it, her presence, even before he lifts his eyes to look at her, like the air inside the room has just changed in the moment she walked in. Clara, and her velvet brown eyes and her bright smile. And his heart, foolish and old, just skips one beat or two at her sight.

She is with the Ponds, and they are all laughing, including that annoying bloke that is just a step behind her, too close to her, his hand absurdly resting on the small of her back. Who is he anyway? The bloke smiles at her. And she smiles back. And there is another crack in his heart.

On the stage, the pudding brain of the guitarist makes another mistake that hurts his ears and makes him tight his grip at his glass. And Clara shows one of her heart melting smiles to that bloody new bloke, who looks too much like a soldier. What is Clara doing with a soldier anyway?

He needs to drink something stronger than juice. Desperately. But that means to walk just in front of the booth they all have just sat and where the soldier boy is now just too close to Clara.

He shifts on his seat, feeling something twist painfully inside of him and he doesn't know if it is because the lad on the guitar is just exterminating with a song that is not really that hard to play or if it is because the infamous soldier boy is smiling at Clara and she is smiling back, once more.

He tries to focus on Robert and the band but it is really hard with that infuriating boy and his guitar. Robert attacks his drums with his usual precision and it still amazes him that he hasn't pursued a career as a professional musician. He is still good. The bassist, Sam, is not bad himself and clearly still knows what he is doing up there. But guitar boy is a real threat to any kind of human life if he thinks that whatever he is doing is playing the guitar. What the hell Robert was thinking when he chose that boy anyway?

What keeps him intrigued is that no one seems to notice the guitar boy. Or that Jack Harkness is now taking Clara on his arms and spins her around. He almost groans. Definitely this can only be a kind of joke and somewhere someone is having a good laugh on his account.

He bites his lower lip in an attempt to control the thing that starts to burn inside of him, struggling to come out, while he considers whether he should kick Jack fucking Harkness out of the stool he has just placed next to Clara or the guitar lad out of the stage. Or maybe the bloody smiling soldier boy next to her.

And then it finally gets into him and he places his empty glass on the table with more force than necessary, standing up to walk resolutely towards the stage.

The band has just finished a song when he steps up the stage to stand just in front of the guitarist, towering the boy with knitted eyebrows. The boy just looks at him suspiciously when he extends his hand at him.

"Go on, take a beer on me, lad," he doesn't look at Robert but can say that the old bastard is pushing back a smile right now. The boy opens his mouth to protest but Robert cuts him off.

"Take a break, Archie."

The Doctor glances at Robert and mouths a mute "Archie", one sarcastic eyebrow lifted, but Robert just shrugs while the boy gives an indignant huff and hands him the guitar, jumping off the stage to storm out to the bar as if he hasn't a vote on the matter. And he really hasn't. Smart fella.

He adjusts the guitar's strap on his shoulder and lets his fingers slide through the strings a couple of times, trying the instrument. The lad doesn't have a clue about playing, but he owns a really nice guitar.

There is a dare in Robert's eyes when he finally lifts his head, which the Doctor answers with a smug smirk before he plays a couple of chords of a song they'd played together so many times that he knows it is impossible that Robert and Sam won't recognized it.

The other two exchange amused looks and both smile at him, nodding their agreement. Robert counts till three beating his drumsticks and Sam starts playing the bass chords. His guitar comes next, his fingers sliding through the strings as if he has been doing that his entire life and when Robert's drums sounds he instantly knows that they will do it beautifully because all the eyes seem to turn to them immediately, attracted for the infectious beat of the song. Robert smiles at him over the drums and lifts his eyebrows at him, his hint to start singing. As if he didn't know already.

" _I always flirt with death  
I could kill, but I don't care about it  
I can face your threats  
And stand up straight and tall and shout about it _

_I think I'm on another world with you, with you_

 _I'm on another planet with you, with you"_

The music that leaves the guitar under his fingers is powerful and precise and gets into his bones, reminding him how much he liked to do this. His raspy voice fills the air and the small crowd surrounding them starts to dance and clap their hands with the song.

And then he is twenty years old again and there is a beautiful brunette at the first booth looking at him with big brown eyes that steal the air from his lungs. And he just can't take his eyes off of her.

\- 0 – 0-

Clara is surprised when Amy and Rory introduce her to a friend, Danny Pink, math's teacher. He is nice enough and they immediately connect. He sits next to her at the booth, while they all laugh about the joke Rory finally manages to end after he has changed the ending three times. The place is not totally full yet, but she thinks that is just too early. Amy orders them drinks and Clara is surprised to see a familiar face approaching them with that unmistakable bright smile a few minutes later, carrying their drinks on a tray that he places at their table.

"Hey, Ponds! Nice to see you guys!"

Even if he is not her type, she can't deny that Jack Harkness is gorgeous, though his smile seems too bright. Maybe it is the lights. He pats Rory's back enthusiastically and leans to place a kiss on Amy's cheek, murmuring something in her ear just to receive a soft slap on his forearm from the ginger, who giggles.

His eyes move then to her and she can see the smugness descending upon his smile. "Now, this is big a surprise! Clara Oswald!"

He pulls her on her feet by her hand inside a tight embrace and spins her around, making her squeal in surprise. She blushes instantly when he places her on the ground and ignores the wary look on Amy's face, taking her seat next to Danny again and quickly hiding her face behind her glass.

"Wait? Do you already know each other?" The ginger asks, looking from Clara to Jack and back to Clara.

"'Course we do!" He winks and adds, just to make things even more awkward. "We met another day, at Donna's."

Amy blinks. "You mean, Donna? The Doctor's sister?" Amy straightens her eyes at her and Clara bites her lower lip, looking around to avoid her gaze as if the subject has nothing to do with her. Good that Jack is doing all the talking.

"The one and only," he says brightly and sits at the stool that someone has just brought to him, flashing another cheeky smile at Clara.

"Oh, he is here, somewhere, by the way," he adds, searching the place with his eyes for a moment. He then chuckles, looking at the stage. "Yeah, of course."

Before anyone of them can say something, the familiar Scottish brogue sounds clear and Clara feels as her heart has just skipped a beat. She almost needs to pinch herself when she turns around to see him, the Doctor, at the stage, the sound of the guitar in his hands filling the air with electricity.

It is impossible not look at him, blue eyes sparkling, one foot stomping on the floor as the rest of his lean body moves with the music that his long fingers seems to magically extract from the instrument. So he really knows how to play. And sing. And shake his body too.

They all stand to see them better and Amy is next to her, dancing with her arms up, a big smile spread on her face.

Clara is not a music expert, but she can tell that he is good, exceptionally good to be honest. And he seems to be so at ease, like this is his natural element, that it is really hard to believe that this man in front of her is any other thing than a lead singer on a rock band. She almost laughs.

His raspy voice fills the air and when his eyes lock on hers it goes straight to her core. There is a smile in the crinkles around his eyes, a flash of a single dimple on his cheek while he sings, his eyes never leaving hers. She raises one inquiringly eyebrow at him and he smirks, blinking at her smugly, prompting out that laugh that had been bubbling in her throat. His voice sounds too sexy for his own good when he sings the next verse and she feels herself blushing under his gaze.

" _You get under my skin  
I don't find it irritating  
You always play to win  
But I won't need rehabilitating, I know" _

Who does he think he is to do this to her? To sing like that, like he is singing just for her, blue eyes burning holes on her skin?

Amy leans into her to practically yell to her ear. "Friends, huh?"

Clara wants to tell her to shut up, wants to roll her eyes at her, but she can't do any other thing than look at him. He is still looking at her with that cheeky smirk. Oh, she will murder him as soon as he gets down from there, smug sexy bastard. Or kiss the air out of his lungs. Maybe both. Oh, well probably none, because last time things had just gone weird. But why on Earth he keeps looking at her just like that?

" _I think I'm on another world with you, with you_

 _I'm on another planet with you, with you_

 _Another girl, another planet_

 _Another girl, another planet"_

He plays the guitar solo, eyes closed and a small smile at the corner of his lips, despite the furrowed brows in concentration. His entire body vibrates with the song, like he has completely surrendered at a missed old pleasure while his fingers strike the strings, fast and precise. It is entrancing and magnetic and the people around them dance and cheer, some of them over excited by their electric performance.

Then his eyes are on her once more and she can't avert hers even if her life depended on it. Or hide the smile on her face. How does he have hidden that from her for so long?

 _"Space travels in my blood_

 _There ain't nothing I can do about it_

 _Long journeys wear me out_

 _But I know I can't live without it, I know_

 _I think I'm on another world with you, with you_

 _I'm on another planet with you, with you_

 _Another girl, is loving you now_

 _Another planet, is holding you down_

 _Another planet"_

They finish the song and the small crowd cheers and claps their hands. Surprisingly, all the smugness is suddenly replaced by a coy smile, though he doesn't move his eyes from her. The bassist pats his shoulder and the Doctor finally turns his attention to the guys on the band that seemed also too happy with their own performance.

Jack is laughing. So are Amy and Rory. And she is just too astonished to do anything else than keep looking at that impossible man.

"The old man still knows how to rock," Jack finally says.

"And I thought I will never see this again," Rory mumbles, going back to his place at the booth. There is a soft smile at Amy's face when Clara joins them.

"Neither did I," she says and Clara starts to ask why, remembering that he had told her the other night that he didn't play anymore. Which was probably a white lie, considering what she has just seen tonight.

\- 0 – 0 -

Later, the four of them walk back home; Amy and Rory arm in arm a few steps ahead of them, and the Doctor and Clara side by side, following them. He keeps his hands inside his pockets and watches her from the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the brush of her shoulder against his arm while they walk.

Her persistent silence is unnerving because he is sure that there are a hundred of questions bubbling inside that pretty head of hers. But she has been like that since he joined them earlier. After he had jumped off the stage and given Archie his beloved guitar back, he had walked straight to them. Amy and Jack had received him with an enthusiastic embrace that almost had knocked him down on the floor. Fortunately Rory stood at his place with a coy grin and soldier boy kindly nodded his appreciation.

Clara looked at him, straight into his eyes, a spark dancing in the brown of hers and a small smile on her lips. And how he wished he could've kissed those lips there. He still wants to do it right now. But he is not sure if he should, considering what happened just the other day. He is still unsure about her.

At least, soldier boy seems to be just a friend. Danny Pink. Odd name, Pink. But he is not the one in the position to judge names anyway. In fact, he is happy that Danny had vanished shortly after he had joined them, especially because Amy had forced him to jump to the empty seat next to Clara. And who was he to complain about being close to her? Even if that fluttering seemed to make home in his chest.

"So?" Clara bumps her shoulder on his arm lightly, taking him off his reverie and he casts her a wary glance.

"So what?" Instinctively, he shoves his hands even more inside his pockets.  
"The Doctor and the Time Lords?" There is a laugh on her voice when her eyes meet his.

"Yeah," he shrugs and pushes back a smile, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks. It still is a ridiculous name and he can't do a thing about that. But he doesn't want to giver her that bit, even suspecting that she already knows it.

"But you are wrong."

He furrows his brows, confused. "Sorry?"

"You told me that you were terrible. And you're not."

He sustains her gaze for a moment. "Well, I suppose we're not good enough," he shrugs, moving his eyes away form her.

"I think you are good enough."

Their eyes meet again and he considers how deliberate is the double meaning of what she just said. Her cheeks are slightly pinker than before and he pushes back a smile, looking again to the ground in front of them.

\- 0 – 0 -

They enter the building just after Amy and Rory and the ginger says them goodnight and starts to push Rory inside their apartment as soon as he opens his mouth in an attempt to make small talk, even under his protests.

The Doctor and Clara keep staring at Amy's closed door for a moment, until he finally shakes his head and they exchange an amused look. Clara giggles as they slowly climb the stairs.

"That girl is suffering from some serious problem," he says, turning around to look again at the door, a smile spreading across his face that Clara answers with one of her own.

"She has been acting awkwardly because she thinks that there is something happening between the two of us," Clara says and he just stops, watching her climb a couple more steps before she notices that he is not following her. There is a hint of concern on her face when she turns around to look at him, lips pressed in a thin line like she is silently blaming herself for something.

He knows that he should just ignore it, that he should change the subject and just let that be, but he is an idiot that can't just let it go.

Maybe it is the way that her eyes have searched for his the entire night or maybe it's the tingling sensation on his lips every time he thinks about that one single kiss that makes him mad, but he can't stop himself to blurt out the words in a raw question.

"And is there?"

She is surprised, brown eyes widening just a little bit while she seems to look for the next words that will shatter his heart. Her mouth opens and closes again and he is sure that he has just cocked up, again.

But then she moves one step down, eyes searching for something inside his and he really hopes that she can find it before he melts into a puddle on the floor.

"I... I don't know," her voice is hesitant, but the brown eyes that still look into his tell him a different story. Two dark pools that seem to hide all the mysteries of the universe in a silent invitation for him to jump into them. And he does it, carelessly, in a final surrender.

"Do you want it to be?" His voice is low and raspy as he climbs one step up, making their faces close, their eyes aligned. It takes her a moment longer to react but when she closes the distance between them to brush her lips on his, warm and gentle, he feels the fire burning inside him.

And he kisses her back, his mouth hot against hers, nibbling her lower lip, his tongue gently asking for passage. One of his hands cups her face and the other one moves to her back, gently pulling her closer. He can feel her fingers in the curls that rest on his nape, sending a thrill down his spine when her mouth opens to him and her tongue searches for his, wet and demanding.

She is the one that breaks the kiss, gasping for air, resting her head on his shoulder, arms around his neck. He breathes in her hair, his arms enveloping her waist, eyes shut while he drinks in her warm closeness.

"Can I take this as a yes?" He finally whispers. She moves away just enough to look into his eyes.

"You can take this as a yes, we can try. Slowly," she says quietly, eyes searching for his cautiously.

His lips curl in a gentle smile and he pulls her against him once more, kissing the top of her head.

"Slow is good. Nothing wrong with slow," he whispers, his hand gently going up and down her back.

"Really?" Her warm breath tickles his neck and this time he is the one who moves away to look her in the eyes.

"No need to rush things," he says and smiles when her dimples made an appearance before he gives her a soft kiss on her forehead.

\- 0 – 0 -

He walks her to her door and she runs her hand on his cheek in soft caress that makes him smile. "See you tomorrow?"

He nods. "I'll be waiting," he slowly pulls her into another kiss. And it is hot and intense and deep, taking her breath away and making her body melt against his. Then, he just breaks the kiss and walks away without any single word, only turning around to look at her again after he has opened his door.

She is still there, of course, staring at him openmouthed, cheeks flustered and still catching her breath.

"What was that for?"

Her husky voice puts a smug smile on his lips and she can tell that he is so sure that he has made his point.

"Just something for you to think about," he says, before he steps inside. "Good night, Clara. Sleep tight."

She keeps staring at his closed door for a moment, collecting herself, until she can command her knees again and get in her place, thinking that somewhere in this vast Universe it's certainly illegal to kiss someone like that. She smiles. Cheeky bastard. As if she would be able to sleep well after that.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Sorry for not updating this story in so long. But here we go again and I really hope you are still with me in this journey. Thank you all for follows and comments. I really appreciated. Many thanks to misswinterseat for her help and support!**_

 _They take it slow, spending more time together, knowing each other and getting closer and closer._

* * *

It takes him a little longer than usual to answer the door after she knocks and she can't avoid a giggle when he surges form behind it, a mass of silver curls pointing everywhere, eyes half closed as if he has just waken up, which is probably true. He blinks a couple of times and forces his eyes open, looking at her with that adorable look of confusion on his face.

"Why are you here?" His voice is raspy and he needs to clear his throat before he can speak again. "You're early."

She rolls her eyes at him but doesn't get that as an offense, used to his grumpy mood in the mornings. Although she can't say that she is not a little disappointed to be greeted like that after what happened last night.

"'Morning to you too, sleepy head," she kisses his cheek softly before she walks past him towards his kitchen, ignoring the look he casts her. "And I'm not," she smiles brightly at him from over her shoulder. "You, on the other hand, are really late."

"Impossible," he finally manages to close the door and joins her, suppressing a yawn while his eyes follow her around his kitchen. She pulls her phone from inside the back pocket of her jeans and makes it slide over the table towards him. Fortunately he stops it before it falls from the edge. She can't refrain a cheeky smile as his blue eyes grow wide when he sees the time printed on the screen. He points a finger at her, his fabulous eyebrows furrowed.

"No, no, no! This can't be happening!"

She blinks, her hand frozen gripping the coffee pot mid air and her eyes lock on him while a thousand of fears try to push their way out of her mind.

"You shouldn't be here before I make us toast and..."  
He sighs, his long arm falling heavily at his side, as if he instantly regrets his last words. Clara feels her shoulders relaxing and can't conceal a smile of showing up on her face.

"Did you plan to make us toast for breakfast?" She closes the distance between them with a couple of cautious steps. Her eyes study his face while he runs a hand through his untamed curls, making them messier, if that was even possible.

"I..." He blushes and she can't avoid thinking how endearing it is. "Yes," he says simply, blue eyes warming under her gaze. There is a hint of a dimple on his cheek when she goes on her tiptoes to softly press her lips against his, her hand resting on his chest to keep her balance.

"You are adorable," she states with a soft smile when she goes down.

"Adorable?" He sounds offended and she forces herself to keep a straight face at his furrowed brows, but is caught by surprise when a firm grip around her waist prevents her from moving away from him. "I really must be doing something wrong," he whispers, intense blue eyes locked on hers, "because adorable is the last thing I want you to think about me."

He leans in to capture her lips with his, slowly pulling her body against his while his free hand cups her cheek. She is very grateful by the support of his arm because her treacherous knees give up almost instantly. The wisps of his morning stubble tingles her skin but that is the last thing on her mind while he kisses her like that. Actually, she can't think on anything else. It's really different from the ones they shared before. It's languid and warm and his clever tongue seems to know exactly how to explore her mouth in gentle strokes that elicits a low hum from her lips.

There is a smug smirk on his lips when they part, a silent question in the mischievous glint of his eyes. She knows that she shouldn't give him that much so soon, but after she had practically melted against him, there is little reason to not make a small concession. Besides, she can't avoid her own smugness by the change on his usual morning demeanor and decides that there is no harm in a little rub on his ego.

"Are you always like this? A girl can easily get used to this, you know," she plays with a lock of silver hair and gently pushes it behind his ear. His chest rumbles with a low chuckle that she can feel under the palm of the hand that still rests on it.

"Only in the mornings," he takes her hand and places a warm kiss on its palm, his soft lips lingering on her skin a moment longer than necessary. "And only for you."

"I'll keep that in mind," she tilts her head, a flash of her dimples before she turns around. "For future use, you know," her fingers deliberately slide through his in a slow motion when she walks back to the kitchen counter.

His warm gaze follows her and she feels it lingering on her skin.

"We can still do it, you know," she hands him his coffee mug and his confiscated sugar pot, and pretends to ignore the cheeky grin forming on his lips.

"Do what?" His long fingers wrap around his mug, eyes studying her while she pours one more to herself.

"Toast."

"Ah," he takes a sip after he puts the usual ridiculous amount of sugar in it, blue eyes intently fixed on her when he adds. "Toast. Of course," his lips are still twisted in that wicked smile.

She sustains his intent gaze, daring him to say something else, but he just drinks his coffee slowly, savoring the moment a little longer before he speaks again.

"The bread is behind the second door on your right," he points. "Sure this won't make you late for work?"

"More than sure," she grins back at him. "Besides, some extra food will do you good." He opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off.

"Now, come on, make yourself useful and give me a hand, will you?"

He smiles and she thinks that she hears his voice murmuring at her back when he stands. "So bossy."

\- 0 – 0 -

Most of the time, they stay at his place. It's more comfortable and cozy than her half furnished apartment, she tells him once. And he happily obliges just because he likes to have her at his home, stretched on his couch reading a book while he tries to catch up with the essays he needs to grade or rummaging among the shelves filled with his collection of CDs and vinyl records in search of the perfect soundtrack for the evening while he cooks them dinner.

Sometimes, he stops by her place when he comes back from work, a crooked smile under bright blue eyes, bringing food from a take out or something to cook inside the plastic shopping bags he carries in one hand. She always opens her door with that smile he knows now exists only for him and, as soon as the door closes behind their backs, her tiny fingers undo the first three buttons of his shirt before her arms encircle his neck and her lips crush into his.

And sometimes it is hard to remember why he had agreed to take this in a slow pace. When limbs are entangled, bodies pressed against each other, her tongue in his mouth and her low moans against his skin it's really hard to push back the desire of taking her to his bedroom.

But he has made a promise to her, although he is pretty sure that she is not aware of that, that he will take the things at her pace. So, it doesn't matter how many cold showers he needs to take when she leaves, he will wait for her to take the first step or give him a sign, any hint, that this is what she really wants, that it is safe to move further.

From time to time he has this feeling that she is also holding back, but for different reasons. It is like there is something else, like a memory, a burning scar that haunts her and prevents her to keep going with her life. But he never pushes her further, too aware of his own ghosts and pain to be unfamiliar with the shadow that darken her eyes and pull her away from him.

\- 0 – 0 -

They are comfortable watching a movie on his couch; her head rests on his shoulder while he absentmindedly traces random patterns on her arm with his long fingers. She moves next to him and sits up straight to place a kiss on his lips. It's long and tender and when she parts her lips to him, his eager tongue explores her mouth and she moans against him when his teeth nibble her lower lip lightly.

There is fire in the brown eyes that look back at him, exploring his features for a long moment as if she is drinking him in. He can't refrain a smug smirk.

"What?" He lifts one eyebrow.

Her lips curl in an almost imperceptible smile, but he knows those lips of hers too much to not notice it.

"Do you know what is the problem with you?"

Her sudden question freezes him and he feels that old feeling of dread trying to take over him. But there is a mischievous glint in her eyes that tells him a different story and soothes the erratic beats of his heart.

"Oh, this really must be my new fuck up record..." He crosses a hand through his messy curls, searching for any clue in the brown of her eyes.

She punches him lightly on his forearm and he knows that he is safe, letting out a low chuckle. "Enlighten me then, Miss Oswald," he casts her an amused glance.

"Well, you are a really good kisser."

First he blinks. Of all the things he expects her to say that is certainly not one of them. Then he blushes. He must have, by the heat that creeps up his neck and cheeks and by the sly smile finally showing its way on her lips.

"Uh... Really?" He can't hide his surprise and she giggles, amused, running a hand down his chest, leaving a trail of warmth under her fingertips.

"What? No one has told you this before?" There is a genuine incredulity cracking through the amusement in her eyes.

"No," he takes her hand in his and entwines his long fingers with her delicate ones.

"Well," she smiles softly, looking at their joined hands before her eyes search for his once more. "Maybe you just haven't been kissing the right lips."

His lips curl upwards slightly before he kisses the back of her hand, eyes intently locked on hers.

"Well," he leans into her once more, lips mere inches from hers before he whispers. "Certainly not."

\- 0 – 0 -

Their respective pasts are revealed in flashes, small pieces they give to each other here and there as the walls they have built around themselves start to fall down.

His second marriage and the consequent second divorce surprise her, although she is the one that gives away her previous knowledge about his first wife when she sees the smiling face under the opulent golden locks of Professor Song on the telly one night.

"Amy?" He asks her simply and she just nods.

"Don't blame her, please," she holds his hand gently, eyes searching his. "I won't," he half smiles, eyes on her telling her that he is not angry.

He turns off the TV but speaks a couple of things about River. There is a fondness in his tone, the one people use when they speak about a long time lost friend and Clara feels her heart constrict at that. The last thing she needs is to be again with someone that is not entirely with her.

"She travels around the world, filming that TV show of hers," he tells her over his shoulder while he pours them more wine and she can't avoid the lump in her throat.

"What did go wrong?"

He stops at her question and it takes him some time to answer it.

"A lot of little things," he smiles sadly. "I guess that in the end, we just lost each other in the middle of the way."

"Do you miss her?" She regrets the words as soon as they leave her lips. But his reaction is immediate, and he walks to her taking one of her hands in between his. There is no hesitation in his voice and he looks straight into her eyes to let her find out the truth.

"She is part of my past, a big and important part and it is true that we are still friends. But nothing more," his thumb caresses the back of her hand and she nods, answering the mute question in his eyes.

There is no single word about his second wife, although he lets it slip once, in the middle of a conversation, something that gives her the impression that his second divorce has something to do with some major and drastic changes in his life, including his change of career. Clara never forgot what he told her on their first dinner, weeks ago, about being once a journalist nor that bit about her being too young to have paid attention to the news at the time to be aware of what had happened to him.

That fires her curiosity about his past as journalist, but judging by the shadow that darken the blue of his eyes at the mere mention of the fact, she just drops the matter believing that one of these days, when he will be prepared for, he will tell her.

Her past and sorrows also slips through the cracks she opens up to him. So she tells him about all the life wrenching experience of loosing her mother when she was sixteen, the unthinking second marriage of her father with Linda and a couple of things about her previous disastrous relationships.

But she never talks about him. Never tells him what made her leave all her life behind to a new start in here, although she feels that he suspects of something. Of course he doesn't know exactly why, but she knows that he had already his heart broken to be oblivious to hers.

\- 0 – 0 -

Everything comes out one night, after dinner, when they are comfortable sitting at his couch drinking wine and enjoying the closeness of each other. One moment they are talking and kissing each other and then she is trembling and there are tears rolling down her cheeks that he doesn't know how to take.

Then he envelops her in his arms, keeping her close to his chest and lets her talk and pour her fears and sorrows.

He always suspected that she was running from something, that someone in her past had hurt her deeply. And he can almost feel her pain while he listens to her telling him how the man to whom she had promised her heart died in a stupid car crash taking with him all her dreams and hopes.

He tries to soothe her the best he cans, keeping her close, his hand moving slowly up and down on her back until he feels her breath even.

He takes her to his bedroom and places her carefully on his bed, taking her shoes off and wrapping her in soft blankets. The bed is big enough for both of them to sleep in there without causing any awkwardness, but since she is not awake to give him permission to share a bed with

her, he picks one pillow and one blanket and tries to make himself comfortable on his couch. He wakes up later, a warm hand on his cheek, and her worried face looking at him.

"Hey," he smiles, trying to focus his eyes. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," she whispers and tugs on his hand to make him stand.

"What?"

"Come to bed," her brown eyes are soft, "this couch is too small for you."

"I'm fine here," he tries his best to be the gentleman he had promised her, but she rebuffs his attempt with a gentle smile.

"'Course you are. But I need your arms around me. Right now," big brown eyes plead at him. "Please?"

He lets himself to be guided by her hand to his bedroom and gets into it next to her, pulling her gently against him. She rests her head on his chest, legs entwined with his, hand carefully over the place where his heart thumps in a soothing rhythm.

"Are you ok?" He whispers in her hair, breathing in her soft scent. "Much better now," she sighs, nuzzling against his neck.

"Now, sleep." He kisses the top of her head. "I'll be here."


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter is rated M since the beginning, so be aware of it. Nothing too graphic, though._  
 _Also need to warn you that it is a bit angsty at the end and there is a mild reference of an attempt to suicide (it's more like an accident, but yet...)_

 _Many thanks to my beta Misswinterseat!_  
 _And as usual, your comments and thoughts will be much appreciated._

* * *

 ** _Things change, evolve, for better and there is happiness in this new life they share. But life goes on, and one can live inside a bubble forever, even if it is the most happy place in the universe._**

* * *

It's strange to wake up with the warmth of someone else next to him after so many lonely mornings. But it is undeniably a good feeling this one, of her body close to his, the steady up and falling of her chest reassuring him that this is real. She is real.

Carefully, he props himself in one elbow and silently watches her. His gaze lingers over her sleeping form as he slowly tries to memorize her all over again; her long eyelashes and perfect eyebrows, her funny little nose, the gentle curve of her lips. Raising one hand he traces the line of her jaw, her lips, his forefinger hovering over her skin but never touching her, afraid of disturbing her peaceful rest.

How much of a fool is he that he thinks that he can stay like this forever, just watching her, lost in her delicate scent, in the warmth of her presence next to him?

Clara stirs, very lightly, but it is enough to expose the curve of her neck to him and he can't help himself but place a soft kiss on it, just in that sensitive spot where it joins with her collarbone. A hum of contentment leaves her lips and a dimple makes a quick appearance. Her eyelids flutter open to glance at him for just a fraction before she shuts them once more.

He slowly removes a lock of dark hair from her forehead but immediately regrets it when she opens her eyes and gives him a languid smile.

"Sorry," he whispers feeling guilty. But the sentiment vanishes when she touches his face lovingly, fingers scratching lightly on his morning stubble.

"For what?" Her fingers trace the curve of his mouth in the same way he had wished to do with hers a minute before, prompting him to smile.

"I didn't want to wake you up," he kisses her fingers when she places them on his lips.

"You didn't," she shifts to have a better view of his face and shows him a mischievous grin. "Besides, with my eyes shut how could I see your handsome face?"

He chuckles and takes her hand to place a warm kiss on its back, his lips lingering on it a bit longer than necessary.

"Flattering me?"

"Maybe," a smile plays on her lips and she pulls him into a languid kiss. Her arms encircle his neck gently and her soft fingers play with the curls that rest on his nape sending a shiver down his body.

What kind of spell has this woman over him that she can provoke so much in him with so little?

Her lips then slowly move to his jaw and trace a path of warm and wet kisses to his earlobe and he moans when she nibbles it between her teeth. Her mouth is hot on his again, her lips demanding, while her delicate hands slips under his shirt, exploring the skin underneath with warm fingers that build up a fire inside him.

"Clara..." There is a warning in his tone when her hand moves lower, a finger playing with the band of his sweatpants forcing him to stop her motions with a gentle hold at her wrist. He lifts his head to look at her for a moment, to see if she is aware of what she is doing because he is completely sure that if they start this, he won't be able to stop. Not when his entire body is aching for her like this.

There is no fear, no trace of pain, no doubts in the dark eyes that stare at him intently. Just fire. The same fire that burns inside him and that would melt them down very soon, and he feels his heart accelerate inside his chest.

He touches her face softly, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes watching her trying to memorize the look on her face. Her parted lips drawn his mouth closer to hers and he kisses her softly, feeling her trembling under his touch.

"Are you sure?" He breathes against her lips, his voice barely a whisper.

Clara nods, eyes locked on his.

"I want you," she nibbles at his lower lip making him smile and moves next to him, hooking a leg around his, urging him to cover her body with his, and he does so, carefully parting her legs with his tight. His lips search for hers once more and he feels her soft moan when he presses his arousal against her.

"You have me, Clara," he whispers, tugging at her shirt, pulling it over her head with her help and allowing her to do the same with his, before his mouth claims hers again in a kiss that she answers with such passion and need that surprises him. His hands find its way down in a smooth path, caressing her breasts and stomach until he stops to pull the rest of her clothes off, finally revealing the perfection of her naked form.

He leans in, but she stops him, her voice hoarse with need when she speaks.

"Too many clothes."

He smirks and happily obliges, discarding his clothes on the floor quickly, the feeling of her soft skin against his making him tremble when he finally places himself atop of her, her warm lips on his throat before her mouth is on his once more.

His mouth and tongue trace the same path that his hands had done before eliciting low moans from her lips. His entire body seems on fire, every nerve burning, every muscle trembling. He is achingly hard, but takes a little more time to explore her body, to pleasure her, mapping every sensitive spot under his fingertips and his tongue until she is crying out his name, pleading him to take her, to make her his.

And when he finally gets inside her, eyes fixed on hers, he remains still revealing in the feeling of her warmth surrounding him for a moment longer, until he starts to thrust into her in a steady rhythm that she follows with her hips. She moans into his mouth when he places a hand between them and quickens up his pace, building up the path for their release.

Their breathing becomes more and more erratic, bodies moving together, minds swirling with the spiral of pleasure they create together. He can feel how close she is but he is beyond control already, so utterly lost in her. With one last heavy thrust he comes hard inside her and brings her with him crying out his name. Then the entire world just vanishes. There is only Clara and her scent and her taste and the pulse of her body against his while he rests his forehead on her shoulder, panting hard, still dizzy and drunk in a sea of sensations and emotions that he is not able to understand completely.

Her fingers are entangled on his hair, her legs still wrapped around his waist keeping him close, her heart thundering against his chest. She touches his face gently and he lifts his head to look at her. There is a different light in her eyes that instantly makes something shift inside him. It is like a sweet pain inside his heart telling him how deep into this he already is.

And so he knows that there is no coming back from where he is heading right now, being so completely lost in her like he already is. For a single moment he feels lost and terrified, because frankly, what are the chances that she might feel the same about him?

But before the dark corners of his soul can take over him, the tender touch of her fingers on his face bring him back. She looks at him as if he is something precious and her smile is so beautiful and bright that instantly sends away any dark thought. She is here, with him. She is real. This, whatever this is, is real. And for now, it is all that matters.

She kisses the corner of his mouth and there is light and warm in the dark eyes that look at him so intently, prompting him to smile before his lips search for hers once more in a long and tender kiss.

He rolls off of her and gently pulls her atop of him, keeping her close, securely wrapped on his arms. She sighs inside his embrace and places a soft kiss on his chest, over the place where his heart is still beating wildly, before she rests her head over it. And just like their heartbeats slow their pace, slowly both of them drift into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

After that morning of mutual discoveries and revelations, things naturally change between them. Evolve. In a wonderful way, he thinks. It's not unusual that she stays for the night now, a seductive spark lighting up the dark of her eyes when she grabs him by the hand and takes him to his bed and he completely forgets that there is a world outside those doors.

The quiet moments they share, the ones that surprise him with the different rhythm of his heartbeat and that odd feeling that grows inside his chest, tell him that this is something special. Not that he doesn't enjoy the sex, on the contrary, he knows that he is as guilty as her by the fire they create between the sheets and won't ever complain about it. Not on his life.

But it is in all those precious little moments, when he catches her eyes searching for his from over the book she is reading, when she tucks her hand under his shirt to place it over his heart before

she drifts off to peaceful sleep, when she silently brings him a cup of tea and kisses his cheek before she leaves him to do his work, when she hides a smile and tells him that his hair is not that bad in the morning. That is when he feels that he has found in her more than he has wished for. More than he deserves.

And it is so easy to lose themselves in the arms of each other that they really forget about the rest of the world. It's not like they are keeping their relationship a secret, it's just that they both are very private, so none of them is too keen of shouting about it from the rooftops. Not now, when everything is so new and they are still learning and trying to understand what is this thing they have.

The problem is the rest of the world keeps moving on and they struggle to keep up with it; there are still markings to be done, essays to be graded, classes to be prepared and something that resembles a social life they had before with the few friends and relatives that need to be cherished.

* * *

They wake up with the insistent sound of knocks at his front door and he hides his head under the pillow with a groan.

"Oh, Christ! What time is it?" His voice is muffled under the pillow and Clara's giggle next to him reverberates at his own chest, brightening his mood just a bit.

"No idea," more knocks and she pulls the pillow from his head. "Maybe it is something urgent."

He glares at her taking his pillow back.

"Nonsense. What can be this urg-" And then it hits him. Lunch. At Donna's. And he had been the one who had insisted on it. Oh, he was so very dead. He glances at his phone at the bedside table. Middle of the afternoon. And a dozen of unanswered calls. From Donna. She will kill him and throw his lifeless body to wild dogs.

He sits at the bed and chews his thumb avoiding the questioning look Clara gives him. "Err... I might have forgotten something," he blushes and stands up quickly to pick up a t-shirt and a pair of jeans from the pile of clothes discarded on the floor from the night before.

"Going commando?" She lifts a cheeky eyebrow and he glares at her. "Oh, shut up."

He tries not to focus on the mischievous spark in her eyes while he makes his way to his front door, running a hand through his wild curls in a failed attempt to make himself more presentable.

"Oh, you insufferable man!" Donna gives him an angry look before she walks past him inside his living room and the Doctor exchanges a pained look with Robert who just shrugs to let him know that he hasn't any vote on this matter. "You still don't know how to use your phone, don't you, John?"

He bites his lip; a ghost of a headache starts to surge on his temples. "Donna, I-"

"I don't know why I still worry about you!" She huffed, pacing the room. "You called. Twice in a week, a properly new record," her eyes flashed with a mix of fury and pain that just makes him feel even guiltier. He knows she is overreacting, but can't fully blame her. Never. Donna's concern is not unjustified after what had happened. He takes a deep breath. Almost four years ago now.

"Lunch, you said! Spend some time with the girls. And you just-"

And then, when he starts to think that she is in a verge of a break down, she stops abruptly, eyes straightening to watch him intently for what seems to him an entire minute before she starts to scan the room around them.

"Oh," her face breaks into a grin that is somewhat more frightening that any angry speech about his complete inability as a family member and the Doctor shifts on his feet, shoving his hands to his jeans pockets.

"What?" He uncomfortably furrows his brows at her.

There is a wicked glint in her eyes now, any sign of angry completely vanished when she spins on her spot and starts to walk back to the door, pulling a clueless Robert by his hand.

"How silly of me! Come on, Robert. Time to go."

The Doctor watches them dumb folded.

"And you, dear brother, can make it up to me by coming to dinner. Tomorrow. No excuses will be accepted," she shows him a grin with too many teeth before she adds in a louder tone. "You can come too," her grin widens, "Clara."

Donna stops at the door just to look at him, relishing in the moment, visibly satisfied by letting him out of words for once in a while, not to mention completely and utterly embarrassed.

"Oh, I really hope it is Clara in your bed. Otherwise you are really in trouble. Not to mention being much more stupid than I thought," Donna adds, leaning against the doorway.

A close look on her face tells him that she is just holding back laughter, which should be a good change considering how close of a crisis they had been just the minute before. And now, he almost groans, now she is just having fun.

Really? He looks at Robert that raises his eyebrows and gives him a thumb up. And, the Doctor, not daring to challenge Donna after all, does the only possible thing he can and scolds at Robert with his impressive furrowed eyebrows, which is completely pointless by the way his brother in law keeps smirking at him.

And when he thinks that things can't get worse, Clara's voice sounds clear, coming from his bedroom.

"We will be there. Thanks for the invitation, Donna."

This time Donna lets a short laugh escape her lips, before she wiggles her eyebrows at him, making the Doctor close his eyes for a moment to compose himself, feeling his cheeks burning.

"You're welcome, dear!" She looks at him again and whispers. "Not a idiot, then," she pats his cheek lovingly, her eyes softening. "Go on. Be a little happy, for a change. And behave yourself, lover boy," she winks making him groan.

* * *

Clara keeps herself hidden under the duvet for a while thanking God that Donna hasn't decided to come to check his bedroom to see everything by herself.

After a long moment, when the Doctor doesn't come back to the bedroom, she decides to go after him, finding him at the couch, eyes facing the door, lost in thought. As soon as their eyes meet, he endearingly blushes.

"So, now they know."  
He nods slowly and pulls her gently against his chest when Clara sits next to him.

"In the most embarrassing way, I might say," he adds after a moment with a coy smile that elicits a giggle from her lips.

"Oh, it could've been worse," Clara lifts her head to look at him with a cheeky smirk and he groans.

"Is she always like that? So overprotective of you?"

It takes him a moment to answer that and when he does, his tone is more serious than she expects, making her look at him.

"She has her reasons," he sighs and removes his arm from her shoulders to rub at his eyes. "I... made a terrible mistake some years ago."

Clara watches his face carefully and places her hand over his to let him know that he is safe with her.

"We all have done terrible mistakes in life."

"Yeah," he looks at her straight into her eyes and she can tell that he is considering if he should tell her about it so soon in their relationship. He opens his mouth and closes it again and for a moment, she thinks that he has given up. "But this one almost put an end to my life," he finally says, averting his gaze to stare at the floor.

It is indeed a shocking revelation. She knows that there is something lurking in his past, he had already let slip some bits here and there, but this is completely unexpected considering the man she knows he is. And somewhat, she knows that this is just one more piece in the puzzle that is his past.

"A dangerous combination of too many sleeping pills and too much alcohol and..." His voice trails off and he needs to clear his throat before he can go on. "It wasn't a planned or conscious movement, but yet..." He sighs, still not looking at her. "Donna was the one who found me."

Clara feels a lump forming in her throat trying to imagine what reasons could've possibly made someone like him to go that far. Her heart aches and very slowly, very carefully, she entwines her fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently to let him know that she is here for him.

"I will tell you the whole story one day, Clara," he looks at her and the grey in his sad eyes tells her much more than he probably would like to do right now. "I promi-"

She places her fingers gently over his lips and shakes her head, eyes locked intently on his. "You don't need to."

"I know," he kisses her fingers, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "I just want to. But not now. Not today."

She slowly nods and places a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Any time," she smiles reassuringly. "When you are ready."


	9. Chapter 9

**Misswinterseat you are a dear! Thank you for your help!**

 **And many thanks to all of you for you kudos, lovely comments and for reading this story!**

* * *

 _Things start to slowly to get into their places and soon two people will find out that what they feel for each other is much more than any of them was expecting._

* * *

It's a kind of silent agreement between them, this of not naming what they have and, though they had never talked about it, she can say that he feels the same. This between them is too precious and it is still too new to put at risk because of the human race's need to label every kind of relationship's status.

Though deep in her heart she knows that there is more into this so called need of them of protecting what they have. Survival skills, learned from the burns and scars still too fresh to have stop stinging. Then, rather than thinking and trying to define them, they just do the best they can do and live it.

So it is really odd that the first time they go out together (properly together as a couple though that is a word they rather fiercely ignore), it's just for a family dinner.

Luckily, it is his family and not hers, which should be enough to placate her anxiety and stop her of fidgeting with the hem of her skirt in the taxi all the way to Donna's home. But all her insecurities just vanish away under the human pile of giggling children that form over the Doctor as soon as he sits on the large couch at the living room, and Clara can't refrain a small laugh at his flushed cheeks and coy grin when their eyes meet quickly.

It is so evident how much they all love him, how much this man, that so unexpectedly invaded her life (though he would probably say the contrary, considering how things had happened so far), means for this family. And then, she catches herself thinking over dinner of how much he means for her too, because, even if she doesn't dare to name the feeling, she can't ignore it anymore. How can she deny the insanely rhythm of her heartbeat at every look, every brush of his fingers? How can she pretend that the rich sound of his laughter doesn't warm her from the inside and doesn't reverberate at her very soul? How can she ignore that the world seems to stop when she is in the loop of his arms and she feels the hammering of his heart under her fingertips?

He casts a glance at her from over the table, his eyes softening when meeting hers and she feels her pulse rating, her lips curling up in response at the hint of a dimple on his cheek.

And then it hits her that it is too late. She is falling, hard and quickly. She can only hope that he will be there to catch her.

After dinner, Clara helps Donna with the dishes, ignoring the other woman protests and when they both finally join the others at the garden the scene unfolded in front of her eyes is just too adorable. So, she stays there, arms crossed just watching them, completely enthralled and unable to refrain her own smile to spread on her face.

The Doctor lies on his back on the grass, his heartedly laughter resounding over the shrieks and giggling from his nieces, clearly loosing a tickling battle. And it is so good to see him like this, so at ease and carefree, his walls completely down and his burdens forgotten, removing years from his face. Then, suddenly he is on his feet again, leaves and grass falling from his clothes and his disheveled curls swaying while he runs away from his three little captors that don't hesitate on chasing him through the garden, as if they are fighting for their lives.

His gaze then settles on her and for a tiny moment she can see that spark, almost magical, that lights up his eyes and that can only be product of her imagination, but that nonetheless makes something shift inside her. And there it is again, that fluttering in her heart that makes it hammer in her throat. For that quick moment, the world slows down and she feels lost inside the stormy blue of his eyes.

But then she sees him running towards her like a mad man, the girls on his heels and her smile freezes on her face. She lets out a shriek when his arms envelope her waist form behind in a attempt to hide himself, which is completely ridiculous considering how much taller he is. And when the girls surround them, the Doctor tries to use her as a human shield, mostly for the girls delight and her amusement. Clara can't help but join their laughs and tries her best to protect herself from her attackers until the Doctor, with one last shout, runs away to seek shelter inside the house.

"No running in the living room!" Donna's warning gets onto deaf ears and she rolls her eyes while they watch uncle and nieces vanish through the doors.

Later, in the taxi that is taking them back home, he rests his head on her shoulder for a moment, leaning his body in a strange angle to accommodate their height difference. He is certainly tired after all the agitation with the girls, but she can say that he is surely happy, and that makes her happy too. She runs her fingers through his soft curls and starts giggling at what she finds.

"What?" He lifts his head to look at her and she shows him a piece of grass between her fingers. "Yeah," he chuckles, ruffling his hair and making it even messier. "There is probably more somewhere."

"It was fun," he lifts one eyebrow and she explains. "The dinner. I had a great time," she smiles. "They are all adorable."

"Ha. Wait until Donna starts to try to convince you to babysit the girls." She leans into him, her head resting on his arm with soft sigh.

"Well, I will love it."

"Will you?"

"I do love children," she glances up at him, "I'm a school teacher, did you forget it?"

"Yes, you are," he kisses the top of her head. "Just don't tell this to Donna. Or all our weekends from now on will be doomed into the Neverland."

He smiles when he feels her giggling against his shoulder. After a moment of comfortable silence, he speaks again.

"You two got along well, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she lifted her head to look at him. "She is a laugh."

He huffs. "I suppose so. You two spent a lot of time in the kitchen, by the way. Hope she haven't exhausted you with all the stories about the girls or tales about my wild days."

That last bit earned him a lifted eyebrow.

"Wild days? That's something to ask her about later," she gives him a teasing smile and he rolls his eyes at her before she goes on. "Actually, we talked mostly about me."

He tilts his head, an inquiring look on his face.

"She asked me some question, you know, like she was trying to figure out what are my intentions."

"Your... intentions?" He furrows his brows. She nods. "Yeah. Towards you."

He blinks, confused for a moment until realization comes over him and then he blushes, running a hand through his face.

"I just can't be-"

Clara nudges his arm with her shoulder, the sound of her laughter makes him look at her again.

"I'm joking, you daft man!"

"Oh, well, you've got me," he snorts but it is visibly relieved, "Have to tell you that it is something I can really see Donna doing."

\- 0 – 0 -

She sits at the back of the classroom and waits while the students take their seats. Some come in little groups, chatting happily, others are by themselves looking like they had just jumped inside the world and haven't the faintest idea of why they are here.

But all of them have the same air, the same bright aura that surrounds them, youth; carefree and vibrant, bright and warm, even in those who already seem to carry in their eyes a certain gravitas of whom already faced some life challenges. They all look so young and suddenly it seems to her like a century since she had been too one of them.

Her reverie is promptly interrupted when she catches a glimpse of him. His unmistakable lean figure, unusually dressed in a pair of black jeans and a blue cardigan over a white t-shirt, stands at the doorway in silence. He watches them from behind his black-rimmed specs, without fixing his eyes in no one in particular, just casually waiting for everyone to take their seats and make silence.

And when the buzz finally ends, she can say that all the eyes are glued to him, in a silent expectancy that turns on curiosity and amusement when he finally walks to his desk whistling a song.

Clara blinks. She knows the song; the tune is so very familiar that the name is almost slipping out of her tongue. But she is so completely astonished and amused by him that it is hard to remember even her own name right now. A quick look around tells her that this in not an extraordinary event, since no one else seems to be really surprised by it. On the contrary, they all look like they are trying to figure out what song that is.

As soon as the Doctor places his bag and books on the desk and leans against it, arms crossed in front of him with a defiant pair of lifted eyebrows over his specs, some brave hands dart into the air.

He makes a slightly nod at one of the students, a boy with a red hair whose unruly curls defy the gravity almost as much as the Doctor's.

"The...Killers?"

The Doctor's lips curl up in that unaware cheeky bastard grin he wears when he thinks he is being so very clever. The same one that always makes her wish to kiss it out of his face until he can't remember why he was grinning anymore. Maybe it isn't a thought solely hers because Clara has the distinct impression that the two girls seated in the row in front of her had just sighed. She bits back a smile of her own because frankly, who is she to blame those two poor girls?

"Come on, Mr. Carter! Don't disappoint me!" The Doctor adjusts his specs over his nose and points lightly to another raised hand. "Mr. Warren?"

"Coldplay, Sky full of Stars?"

"Ah!" His smile widens and he gives a couple of steps approaching the front row. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he states for the general amusement, before he presses at his phone and lets the famous song play for a few seconds.

Clara can't refrain a smile and watches him with delight while he bobs his head lightly with the music, his eyes intently scanning the room while all the students accompany the rhythm with the clap of hands.

Definitely the man should be in the show business.

He stops the music and walks back to his desk under applause and turns on the projector and a name shows up in the center of the screen. After a theatrical flourish of his hand, thanking them for the appreciation, he leans against the desk and motions his arm asking for silence.

"Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci," his voice sounds clear in the now silent room, his accent curling on the edges of each syllable sending a shiver down her spine. "Or just Leonardo da Vinci," he smiles. "Can someone tell me what is the connection between Leonardo and the lovely song of this week?"

"The stars. Astronomy?"

"Very good, Miss Adler," he absent-mindedly crosses a hand through his curls making Clara shift in her place. That little antics will be the death of her. And what is he trying to do anyway? To woo half of the class with all this display of unaware sexiness?

"Astronomy was just one of the multiple areas of interest of Da Vinci," the image on the screen changes and he looks to the class again, opening his mouth to speak but stopping when his eyes finally meet hers.

Clara smiles at him sheepishly what earns her a pair of quirked eyebrows, but a flash of a dimple in the next second tells her that he is fine with her presence and he instantly clears his throat, continuing with his lecture.

In the next hour or so she watches him win an entire class with his enthusiastic telling about the history and achievements of Leonardo Da Vinci. Everything in his lecture is captivating, from the passion in his voice and the way he moves in front of them, to all the facts he presents and, not only she, but everyone inside that classroom just can't avert their eyes from him.

From time to time, though, his eyes search for hers, in a look that never lasts more than a second, but that is enough for her to feel the warmth of his gaze upon her. And every single time he does it, her heart races, like she is a love struck teenager.

"Ok, ladies and gentleman, this is all for today," he finally says, rubbing his hands together. "Your attention was very much appreciated! And," he raises his voice over the chatting and rustling of people standing, "please don't forget to leave you essays on my desk before you go!"

He walks around his desk and starts to collect his things, exchanging a casual smile or thanking the students that are leaving.

Clara moves to an empty seat at the front row to wait for him and he casts her a furtive glance from over the heads of the group of students that have circled him. She bits her lower lip, a twinge of jealousy prodding her in her chest with the looks the girls talking to him right now keep giving him, obviously trying to charm him. But what is more evident is how completely oblivious to that he is, bless him.

Good that now she knows enough about him to be sure that that is not he pretending to be aloof or cool about it because she is there; he really doesn't have the faintest idea that the girls in front of him would give everything for a good snog with their sexy middle-aged history professor. She can even imagine his shocked face if she tells him, which she doesn't intend to do anyway.

When the last students finally leave and he is sure that there is only the two of them in the classroom, he closes the door and leans his back against it, hands shoved into his jeans pockets while a grin curls the corners of his mouth up.

"So," his soft eyes trains on her, "this is a nice surprise."

"Really?" She stands and walks toward him, stopping just a few inches apart, close enough to make him shift on his feet but far enough to still be decent.

"Really," his smile widens, blue eyes locked on hers, and Clara wants to kiss him there and now, but she doesn't make anything to do it. His workplace, his rules.

"So, do you always start your lectures like that?"

His eyes follow the motions of her small fingers playing with a button of his cardigan for a moment before his gaze moves back to her face again.

"No, not always," his eyes slowly travel over her face and she feels herself blushing under his gaze.

"Well," her forefinger pokes his chest very lightly, a teasing spark in her eyes. "I'm impressed."

"Oh, really?" He tilts his head a little, a smirk playing on his lips when he holds her finger to prevent her of repeating the gesture. "With what?"

She lets out a short laugh, unable to avert her eyes from the impossible gray-blue of his. "Oh, now do you want me to make a list?"

"Nah," he lets out a short laugh and shakes his head, "your beautiful smile is all the compliment I would ever need," he gingerly leans into her to brush her lips with his. It's light and quick but yet, it's able to warm her chest.

"So, is this a kink of yours?" He blinks at her and she continues, a mischievous grin on her face. "Having a good snog against the chalkboard?"  
He chuckles and kisses her hand, walking past her to his desk.

"Definitely not," he glances at her over his shoulder, with that cheeky bastard grin plastered on his face. "And, we really should go. Before I stop to think straight and do something completely inappropriate with you in here."

She laughs. "Well, I think you can save it for tonight," she picks her bag and walks back to the door to wait for him.

"Oh, you'll see," he smirks, holding the door open for her to get out. "Time for a coffee, before you go?"

"Sure." - 0 – 0 -

They walk the corridors side-by-side, arms brushing occasionally while they chat quietly and make their way to the cafeteria. She takes a table at a quiet corner and waits for him to come back with two coffees and croissants that he places over the table, taking the seat in front of her.

Some students pass by them, greeting him and Clara notices the curious looks they cast them with disguised amusement.

"So, is it not a school day?" He asks her before he gives a good bite on his croissant.

"Kids are on a school trip today and I was spared. But still have to go back to do some marking," she smiles and instinctively reaches out her hand to wipe some crumbs attached to his chin. The small gesture seems to catch him by surprise and even if he doesn't shy away from her touch, she feels like she has just done wrong.

But before she can say or do anything, someone comes out of nowhere and takes a picture of them with a phone, making both of them to snap their heads simultaneously to see the grinning face of Amy.

"What are you doing?" The Doctor hisses, eyebrows furrowed in a menacingly glare.

"Oh, you know, just collecting some evidence. Just in case you two keep trying to fool me with that 'just friends' thing," she checks her phone for the photo and seems to be happy with it.

"Can you just sit, please?" The Doctor's ears are red. Actually, now that Clara is looking, his entire face is red. "You are just too tall to go unnoticed and people are starting to stare," he pulls her by the arm, practically forcing her to sit next to him.

"Oi! You don't need to be rude," she gives him a fake stern look that makes him close his eyes for a moment.

"Sorry," he sighs, opening his eyes before he takes a long sip from his coffee. Amy grins at him, too satisfied with her recent discovery to be really bothered by his grumpiness.

\- 0 – 0 -

"So, you two are a thing now?"

Clara hides her smile behind her cup when the Doctor groans, but just shrugs at him when he lifts one inquiringly eyebrow at her. There is no point in denying it to Amy anymore.

"Yeah, I suppose. And," he adds quickly raising his forefinger at Amy to stop her from talking, "before you start to brag about knowing it, Pond, we weren't, not until recently. So, you knew nothing."

Though his words do nothing to wipe away that knowing smile and teasing spark from Amy's face, it's the almost offended look that Clara gives him that catches his attention.

"Well, I'm happy for you two," the red haired stands, tucking her phone back into her bag. "Really. Gotta go now, don't want to be late! Take care, you both."

And with that she walks away while they both watch her in an awkward silence. When he looks back at Clara, the deep frown on her brow tells him immediately that he is in trouble, though he hasn't the faintest idea why.

"What?"

She looks at him for a moment longer before she speaks and he knows that it is going to hurt even before she opens her mouth.

"Is that what you think? About us?"

The Doctor blinks at her without knowing how to answer to that, because frankly, she can't be serious, can she? They've never talked about that before and he just can't believe that she wants to do this now and here.

He thinks that maybe he can make a little joke to break the tension but there she is, watching him with those big brown eyes of hers so full of a hundred different emotions that he is not able to read, waiting for an answer he is not sure if he has. So he places a warm hand over hers, ignoring the curious looks that intimate gesture will certainly drag to them.

"No. 'Course not," his eyes search for any sign of reassurance in hers, but he can only find troubled thoughts. "We... You are so much more to me, Clara Oswald." He sighs and squeezes her hand a little. "But this is not the time and place to talk about it."

It takes her a couple of seconds to react to that, but when she gives him a coy smile and brushes her thumb over his hand, he feels a wave of relief washing over him.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Please, don't be," he takes both of her hands in his, really throwing all his cautions to the wind and peeks at his watch with sad eyes. "I really have to go now. See you tonight?"

She nods, eyes carefully trained on his, studying him, trying to bare the soul he so carefully keeps hiding from her. He gives her hand a finally squeeze and smiles before he walks away, asking himself what is this they both are so afraid of.

Later that night, when they meet at his place, he half expects her to bring the subject up again and can't say if he is relieved or disappointed when she doesn't.

He wants to believe that her silence is for the best because he knows that he is rubbish at this kind

of conversation and that certainly has spared him of messing up with what they have with his total inability of putting his feeling into words. And so, he just pretends to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind telling him that he should do the talking and tell her how he feels, before it is too late.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Clara and the Doctor's relationship evolves but there are things that just can't stay in the past.**_

* * *

 _ **I know that it took me ages to finally come back to this fic, but, here we go again. There is a little bit of everything in this chapter as things start to evolve in their relationship and secrets from the past come to light. Hope you'll enjoy it! Comments will be very much appreciated!**_

 _ **Thanks for misswinterseat for her help and patience with me!**_

* * *

He casts a glance at the pile of essays he still needs to go through with a sigh and adjusts his specs over his nose. He still has a lot to do until he can call this a day and he knows that by the way things are going, his thoughts constantly wandering to Clara, he won't finish this so soon. His heart beats faster, the poor old bastard, out of control at the mere thought of her.

He leans back against his chair and closes his eyes for a moment, searching for a peace of mind that he knows now he can only find in her arms. It shouldn't be like this, it is too soon. Besides, one would think he had learnt his lesson after everything life had put him through, but of course, he didn't. The problem is his heart has always been rebellious and foolish, forever in disagreement with his mind.

He sighs, the realisation that she is already rooted so deep inside of him is so terrifying especially when he is still so unprepared to face the consequences. A short laugh escapes his lips at the memory of the first time he saw her, the spark in her surprised dark eyes, the lovely flush on her cheeks. The truth is he had never stood a chance.

Yet, he can't dismiss that nagging feeling that this happiness won't last, that it is just a matter of time until she will finally realise the fucked old bastard he is and will walk away without a second thought. Because, frankly, he can't remember a time when good things have really endured in his life.

The door opens with a bang that makes him practically jump out of his chair, head shooting up to see the slender and smiling figure of Amy Pond stepping inside.

"Jesus Christ, Pond!" he scolds at her. "No one has ever taught you to knock first?"

Amy just smirks and closes the door, walking towards him with a smile that he can only think as creepy, to say the least.

"When were you going to tell me?"

The Doctor blinks at her, momentarily confused. "Tell you what?"

"About the award," she grabs a pencil from over his desk to twirl between her fingers and he watches her for a moment, brows furrowed, trying to figure out if she has always been that insane or he has never noticed it before.

"Award?" he echoes, wary.

"Oh, please, tell me they have called you!"

" _They_?" He adjusts himself in his chair feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Amy, but I don't have the faintest idea what are you talking about."

"Christ!" she huffs in exasperation and approaches him to unceremoniously access his computer, forcing him to push his chair backwards to preserve his personal space. He tries to tell her that opening his mailbox is probably breaking several rules of privacy but she just ignores him until she finds whatever she is looking for. "Here, you silly man! You should really consider reading your emails more often! I don't know how your students put up with you."

He casts her an annoyed glance before he pulls his chair closer and, adjusting his glasses on his nose, reads the message, his eyebrows raising before he finishes it.

"Oh," he slowly leans back into his chair, eyes still fixed on the computer screen. "Oh?" Amy rolls her eyes at him. "Is it all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say?" He finally looks back at her. "You know what this means," he points an ungracious finger at the computer screen, controlling his exasperation.

"This means that all those fat arses that have been scrunching their noses at you for all these years will have to swallow you," she grins triumphantly. For a moment he almost joins her, seduced by the idea of all his open opposers having to watch him receive an award for his last publications at the gala night. But the idea is as much appealing as it is infuriating.

" _This_ means that I will have to attend the gala, first place. Something I don't intend to do."

"Why not? I'm sure you will look fabulous in a tux," Amy lets herself fall in the opposite chair, a sly grin on her face that makes him rolls his eyes.

"Oh, please! You do realise what this gala is, don't you? It's just a number to attract more donators; money prizes, awards, fat arses and tuxedos included. I'm not sure I want to be part of it. Besides," he runs a hand through his curls, making them wilder. "I haven't the faintest idea why they have chosen me. I'm not even an academic like them! Not to mention that my past is still too fresh in the memories of many to attract the kind of attention they need."

"Oh, stop being silly!" Amy leans her elbows on his desk to get closer to him. "You were a brilliant journalist. And, despite your apparent ignorance of how to use your e-mail, you are a great professor too. No one with half of a mind gives a shit about your so-called dark past. I don't. You shouldn't too, by the way."

He rubs his face with both hands with a groan, peering at her through his fingers. "I don't want to go over this again, Amy."

"Neither do I, believe me," she sighs, leaning back in her chair. "Come on, Doctor. Give the idea a thought, at least. There is a lot of people that will be happy and proud of you. Clara included," she gives him a knowing smile that he ignores before she continues in a lower tone. "Rory and I too, if that still counts for something."

He finally removes his hands from his face to look at her, eyes softening with a kind smile when he reaches out for her hand. "Of course, it does, Amy Pond. A lot."

#

After Amy leaves, he stays at his office for a long time, brooding, trying to figure out what kind of hidden agenda is behind that. He can't quite believe that the same people that were always so keen to see his retreating back will give him an award so willingly, even if it only to make a show to new investors. Especially because of that, memories of a not so distant past flooding his mind.

He knows that his downfall hadn't been exclusively Missy's fault, regardless everybody else had told him. Of course, she had used him and spat his rests in the mud, destroying him in an insane act of revenge. But he had been blind, too selfish, too seduced by her promises to even notice what she was doing the entire time. He had ignored the warnings of the ones who had always loved him the most and had been so addicted to Missy's madness that he had practically removed them all from his life.

So, he had never been able to see it coming, Missy's betrayal, a mad revenge that left him broken, as much financially as emotionally.

She took away everything from him in the divorce; his money, his house, his car. But the worst of all, she destroyed his career, putting his name in the mud and taking away his honour and pride. And then he found himself at the lowest point of his life, indebted, broken and implied in a crime of corruption, bribes and leaking of crucial government information, something that although he had never had any proof of, he knew it had been all Missy's doing.

He was a big name in the press at that time, but everyone had turned their backs on him: his so- called friends, the newspaper he worked for, every single one. Except them, his family. Donna, Robert, Amy, Rory, Jack... River. They were there to collect the pieces of him, to support him and fight for him along the lawsuit, to help him to stand on his own two feet when everything ended.

They'd never found real pieces of evidence to prove him guilty and though many still believed that he was the evil mind behind that scandal, he had been considered innocent and freed from all the charges against him.

After that, River had used her influence to get him a job at the University when he found out that he couldn't stand to be a journalist anymore. Not that he had been in a short of offers, on the contrary, but the problem was that he didn't want to come back, not when all of them had failed him.

So, even with his bruised pride, he had accepted River's offer and fought his way through it, taking the chance the headmaster had given him to prove wrong all the ones who thought his hiring a bad thing for the University. And here he was, almost eight years later, still screaming and kicking.

Thanks to them. His family.

He glances at his watch with a sigh. Maybe he should really consider going to this gala thing. Even if he doesn't like the idea of being in the spotlight, he can't deny that he is more than pleased with it. It is a little victory after all and he asks himself how Clara will look like in an evening gown, the silly grin on his face instantly vanishing when he looks back at all the work he still has to do.

It will be a really long day.

#

"Hi! Did you miss me?" She kisses the corner of his mouth and crosses the door he holds open exhibiting a new haircut and wearing a skirt that is definitely too short. Not that he is complaining.

"Desperately," his eyes follow her into his living room, wandering appreciatively over her figure, stopping unashamedly at her tights before he lifts them again to meet her gaze. Usually, he would've blushed instantly at being caught, but now, when a soft shade of pink colours her cheeks, a sly smile curls on his lips instead.

She throws her coat and purse onto his couch with deliberate movements and the way her delicate fingers arrange a strand of her now shorter hair behind her ear makes him push back a smile. Cheeky minx.

If it is possible, she looks even more beautiful, her new haircut highlighting her face and those two pools of rich brown that look expectantly at him, waiting for any sign of his approval. But he is in a good mood and decides to tease her, playing it cool.

"But," he adds, playfully, "It seems that you are the one who is missing something."

Clara watches him suspiciously while he slowly closes the distance between them and places both of his hands on her waist. He looks down to peer into her eyes. It amuses him that even in her impossibly high heels she is yet so much shorter than him.

"Something else besides a large piece of your skirt, that is."

"Ha-ha," she rolls her eyes at him but he sees the amused spark that lights them up. "Hilarious. Did you like it, at least?"

He takes a soft strand of her dark hair between his fingers and twirls it gently before he arranges it behind her ear.

"Your skirt or your hair?"

She huffs in indignation but doesn't seem to bother when he pulls her closer, his lips finding its way into her neck, taking clear advantage of the newly exposed skin in there.

"Because, frankly," he whispers starting to place a trail of warm kisses on her neck and feeling her shivering slightly. "You can't blame me to be suddenly very fond of this new skirt of yours."

"You are an idiot," she murmurs, inclining her neck just a little bit to give him better access, the light tone of her voice telling him that he is still on a safe path.

"And you are incredibly beautiful," he says against her skin before he turns her around to kiss her on the lips.

She breaks the kiss too fast for his taste and walks away from him unceremoniously, not giving him the chance to explore the shortness of her skirt as he has done with the shortness of her hair. He bites back a groan and practically pouts, putting a smug smirk on her lips.

"Are you punishing me?"

"Punishing you?" She echoes, throwing an amused glance at him from over her shoulder, her shorter tresses swaying gently while she walks into the kitchen. "No. But," she stops at the threshold. "I can always think of something," she adds, before disappearing through the door forcing him to follow her into the kitchen.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he leans against the doorway, hands loosely shoved inside his jeans pockets.

Clara looks at him for a moment, a cheeky grin on her lips. "Who says I can't?"

That earns her a lifted eyebrow and when she wiggles her perfect ones in response, he smiles, thoroughly amused.

"Oh, you are really a tease, aren't you, Miss Oswald?"

"Wait and see, Mr Smith," she opens the fridge and disappears from his sight behind the door. "I'm starving."

"We can go out for dinner if you want."

Her head shoots up, a soft smile on her lips.

"Very sweet of you, but I'd really rather stay in if you don't mind."

"I don't," he sits at one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "It will make easier to take some advantage of this new skirt of yours at home."

She laughs and it still amazes him how that sound always makes his heart beat faster.

"Someone is starting to get obsessed with it, hm?" She reemerges from behind the fridge with two apples and offers him one before she sits across the table.

"Totally your fault," he grins, taking a large bite from the fruit.

She just shakes her head amused and smiles at him, but he can tell that there is something else disturbing her by the way she bites the nail of her thumb almost absently minded. He can ask her, but he prefers to wait. Whatever it is, she is dwelling on it right now; he can almost hear the engines of her brain working in how to tell him. Despite his curiosity and a certain dose of worry, he tries his best to get her a diversion and give her the time she needs to tell him. Whatever it is.

"So, how was school?"

"Oh, you know, pretty much the usual. A little bit of Austen, some fun with Shakespeare and Courtney Woods trying to instigate a riot."

He chuckles. "That is someone I'd like to meet someday."

"Courtney Woods?" A short laugh escapes her lips. "Oh, well, there is certainly no dull day with her around. I can assure you."

She stands up and gives a couple of steps back from him and he instantly knows that it is coming. And please, God have mercy on him, because his stomach churns in anticipation.

"Look, there is this thing I want to ask you," she turns around to face him and the bite she gives on her lower lip doesn't go unnoticed on him.

He lifts his eyebrows and tilts his head, signalling her to go on, all his attention focused on her. "Well, I might have mentioned you to my Gran..."

He smiles warmly. "There is no problem about that. I don't expect you to keep me a secret from your family." He gives another bite on his apple to hide his nerves while he waits for the rest.

"I know, it's that, well..." She takes a deep breath before she continues. "Next Saturday is her birthday and there will be this little family celebration and now she is getting me nuts because she wants you to come."

He stares at her for a moment, eyes scanning her face. So this is it. It should be a relief actually, but he can't tell exactly how he is feeling right now. Meeting her family makes this that they have more real, and somehow, her implied request awakens something inside him. Of course, it is not the pure fear of meeting them that fills him of insecurities; there is a lot to make him dread a moment he has never anticipated will come that soon.

Her father is just a couple of years older than him and, by the pictures he has seen in her living room, looks at least a handful of years younger, thanks to all the silver in his hair. He runs a distracted hand through his curls, feeling the weight of each one of the 25 years of their age gap on his bones suddenly. Besides, there is so much that remains unsaid between them, things that he consistently keeps ignoring despite the alarms ringing in his mind, a past of which he is not very proud of in between them.

He looks at his bitten apple for a moment. One only has to have eyes to see that a beautiful and intelligent woman like her can do much better than him and he doubts that her father will just ignore it. He wouldn't on his place. Besides, there is a big chance that they will recognise him, his face had been everywhere a few years ago, and that certainly won't help him to win their sympathy.

"John?"

Her gentle hand on his cheek takes him out of his reverie and he forces his eyes to meet hers. There is this small smile on her lips, big brown eyes that watch him in expectation, a tiny, almost imperceptible frown on her brow that betrays the look of self-assurance she tries so hard to keep to impress him.

He wants to believe that maybe this is the time things won't take a dramatic turn in his life and everything will go smoothly as it should. Even though he is almost sure that he won't be that lucky, he decides to take what he has been given, and pushes back his insecurities, forcing himself to bring back a lighter tone to their conversation.

"Ah," he bites his lower lip, serious eyes watching her even if a smile is fighting its way out. "So that's what this scandalous short skirt of yours was for."

She tries to look indignant but he knows her better.

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation here, mister."

"I'm sorry," he chuckles and watches while her small fingers entwine with his carefully.

"So..." She tilts her head, a glint of hope in the dark of her eyes, a flash of a dimple when she looks at him and he knows that he will do whatever she asks him right now. "Please?"

There is a moment of silence before he finally answers her in a whisper. "All right," it's all he says, giving her a lopsided smirk.

The grin that breaks on her face makes him believe that any sacrifice is worth it. And, when she throws herself at him, arms encircling his neck to keep him close, almost knocking him out of his chair, he lets out a loud laugh and pulls her against him in a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"No," he whispers in her hair. "Thank you."

#

He knows that he has not been himself lately, especially with her, too many worries assaulting his mind at once making him unconsciously to put some space between them. Then, he stays for longer hours at his office and when she asks him if everything is all right, he uses the excess of work as an excuse.

She is always patient and understandable and even when her eyes can't hide her worries, she never pushes him for a better explanation, not even when his half answers sound more like poorly told lies even to his ears. It seems that she is waiting for him to come out of his shell, what only makes him feel more guilty to not being able to tell her the truth behind his fears.

It takes him almost one week, but he finally realises how much of an idiot he has been for pushing her away like that just because he is afraid, not of meeting her family, but of dragging her into a relationship with someone like him. But the truth is he can't think about his life without her anymore and, even if he can't help feeling inadequate for her, he wants to make her happy. He wants to try.

Ignoring their previous night decision of meeting straight at her Gran's for the birthday party, he decides to surprise her at her school.

There are butterflies in his stomach when he crosses the street, a bunch of flowers in one hand and the heart full of hope that he can hold her tight in his arms and make her forgive him for being such an arse lately.

His heart leaps when he sees her, but the bright smile sported on her face is not for him, but for the young fella that walks beside her, dark eyes watching her as if she is the most precious thing in the Universe. For a moment, the Doctor almost can't blame the bloke because he knows that feeling so well. But then he recognises the younger man, soldier boy. The same man that he had seen with her and the Pond's that night at Jack's.

The sound of her laughter makes his heart constrict inside his chest in a painful way. The realisation of how good these two look together, these two young and beautiful people, who carry the shine of whom has an entire and bright future ahead is almost enough to break his heart. Once, a lifetime ago, he had been just like them. Once, he had time in his favour. Not anymore. The future is something he can never promise her, he realises, and he knows that he has been selfish for trying to keep her by his side. As usual.

He stays there for a moment, watching them before he finally decides to walk away. She deserves much more than he can give her. And the only right thing to do is to give up on her and let her find someone better, who deserves her, who can fulfil her dreams and expectations and give her a home, a family. A life of forever and always.

The flowers are heavy in his hands when he throws them into a litter on the way, his feet carrying him as far as he can go, heart in pain and mind racing.

It's really late at night when he finally gets home, more than a little drunk and completely drained. He ignores the dozen of unanswered calls in his phone, all hers for sure, and carelessly throws it over the couch, walking straight to his bedroom. His heart aches and his head spins when he falls heavily on the bed in search for rest that he knows won't come easily.


	11. Chapter 11

_**The Doctor didn't show up at Clara's Gran birthday party and things get a little more complicated when Clara confronts him.**_

* * *

 _Thank you all for your comments and kudos._

 _A special thank for misswinterseat, my lovely beta for all her help. As always, send me your thoughts! They will be very welcomed!_

* * *

The sound of a door closing makes her jump from her couch and practically run outside to knock at his door. Twisting her fingers she waits for his answer but nothing comes even after a long moment, which only serves to increase her worries.

Clara knocks once again, more insistently this time and places her ear against the cool wooden door before calling out his name. It's not after almost a minute or so until she hears some noises coming from inside. A moment later his front door finally opens to reveal his distressed figure. Her heart thumps in a mixture of relief and worry. There is something very wrong, she can tell by the look in his eyes.

"What happened, Doctor? Where have you been?"

He looks like a confused mess, dishevelled hair, red-rimmed eyes, smelling of cheap scotch and she doesn't know what to expect when she pushes past him to get inside. It is hard to ignore all the bells ringing inside of her head, but she does her best to control herself, even with his prolonged silence.

"I'm dying worrying about you!"

He closes the door and exhales heavily, his head bowed as if he doesn't dare to look her in the eye. And when he finally turns around to face her, the look in his eyes scares her to the bone. For the first time in that horrible endless night, she starts to fear for something else than his safety because, even before he speaks a single word, her heart feels that the worst is coming.

"Doctor?" Her voice is shaken, strangled by the lump that is quickly forming in her throat.

"Clara, I-" He sighs, eyes closing for the briefest of the moments before he opens them again. "I think we should end this."

His words hit her like a punch and her heart fights desperately to find a different meaning in them because she can only have heard it wrong.

" _This?_ I... I don't understand," she says quietly, vision blurry with tears that are now on the verge of falling down.

"You and I..." He averts his eyes again and it only makes it more painful. "It will never work." She looks at him in shock, quite not believing that he is telling her this, the pain cutting her deep. "Why?" Her voice comes out in a whisper.

He walks past her to stand at the opposite side of the room, hands in fists at his sides and keeps silence for a long moment. When he finally raises his head, there is a hard look in his eyes. Just one more blow to her heart.

"Because we want different things from life, you and I. We both will be better apart."

Her eyes search for the truth inside of his, desperately trying to understand what he is not telling her, but he has closed himself to her, his face a unmovable mask and for a moment, she doesn't recognise this man in front of her. She always knew that he was a little complicated, burdens and scars from the past still too fresh for him to even tell her everything about them. But this man standing here right now, this is not him. So something must have happened but she can't read through him.

"Is this whole thing about meeting my family? You could've just told me that you didn't want to go!"

She walks away from him, closing her eyes, losing the fight with the tears that slowly start to run down her cheeks. And that's why she doesn't see when he bites his lower lip hard enough to almost make it bleed, doesn't see the shaking hand he runs through his hair or his hard stare faltering, almost breaking the facade he is struggling so hard to keep.

"You don't understand, Clara," he sighs heavily. "If we keep going, it will only lead to heartbreak, your heartbreak."

Clara wipes the tears with the back of her hand, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before she can face him once more.

"And this is your solution to prevent me of a future heartbreak? Breaking my heart all the same, but now?" She shakes her head, pain and sadness overwhelming her when she practically yells at him. "Did it ever cross this thick head of yours that I'm with you because I want to be? That I'm with you because I l-"

She stops herself before she can tell him the words that had been in her head and in her heart for some time now. He doesn't deserve to hear them, not while he looks at her as if there is nothing between them, as if he has been pretending every smile, every sigh, every kiss; not when he is breaking up with her for no apparent reason than his own selfishness. Unless...

The possibility of a new truth cuts her like a knife. Unless she has misinterpreted his feelings and she was nothing but a game for him. Even under the pain and deception she is feeling right now, she doubts it. She knows what she has seen in his eyes and she knows that it was true. But now, she is too hurt to think clearly and the last place she wants to be is here, with him.

"So, this is it, then. We're finished," her voice is low and pained when she finally speaks, eyes cast to the floor.

He slowly shakes his head. "I'm sorry. But it is for the best before things-"

"Very well, then," she cuts him off and walks away, closing the door at her back with a soft thud before she runs back to her flat in search of a solace that she knows will never come, a sob escaping her lips as soon as she gets inside the safety of her home. And she doesn't see when he falls to his knees to hide his head in his hands, thick tears covering his cheeks while he keeps telling himself that it is the right thing to do.

* * *

Amy breaks into his office a few days later, concern in her eyes when she sits in front of him.

"What happened?"

"I'm sorry, Amy, but I'm late for my next lecture," he stands up and tries to walk to the door but she prevents him standing up and pressing a hand to his chest.

"Your next lecture is in one hour, so don't even try," she crosses her arms in front of her chest and keeps blocking his way out. "Tell me, Doctor. What did happen?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, well, of course! And just like this," she snaps her fingers in front of his face, "you decided to break up with Clara. Without any good reason?"

He sighs and turns his back to her, giving a couple of steps towards the window, trying to control the rush of emotions that are constantly assaulting him since that dreadful day.

"My personal life is none of your business," his voice is harsh and his tone cold, but not enough to dissuade Amy.

"I'm sorry, but it becomes my business when you're being an idiot and making yourself miserable," she slowly approaches him. "You are my friend and I care for you," she sighs. "I care for both of you."

He clenches his jaw and feels the nails digging into the palm of his hands, knowing there is no good way out of this. As much as he appreciates Amy's honest concern, he knows that she won't let him go if he tells her the truth. And so, he lies. Maybe, if he tells this lie too many times it would become truth, even for him.

"Because it is over. I'm fond of her, nothing else. Besides, there is no place for a relationship in my life. I," he turns around to face her, trying to keep his mask in place to bring some truth to his blatant lie. "I don't need a relationship. I'm better alone."

Amy looks at him for a long moment, piercing eyes peering through his face and he knows that she doesn't believe a word he has just told her. There is warmth and worry in her eyes when she places a soothing hand on his cheek and he needs to close his eyes to prevent her from seeing the truth, though he suspects that it is already too late.

"Why do you believe that you don't deserve to be happy?" The fondness in her voice brings a lump to his throat. "Don't let your fears take away from you the best thing that has happened to you lately, Doctor. You're better than this," she tells him softly. "And you love her."

He opens his mouth to protest but she lifts one finger to prevent him.

"And, believe me, she loves you too, my darling friend," she smiles at him and walks away to stop at the door, hand at the knob. "Please, Doctor, talk to her. Tell her the truth, let her in. Don't be afraid of loving and being loved in return."

"Amy, I-"

"Just talk to her," she says before she leaves the room and he lets himself fall heavily on the small couch.

* * *

The days without her are dark and long as if time had decided to slow down only to punish him. He changes his routine to avoid meeting her around and stays long hours at his office. Some nights, he doesn't even bother going home, taking a change of clean clothes for the next day with himself. He tries really hard to go on with his life and keeps telling himself that it was the right thing to do because she deserves more from life than someone like him, but it is really hard to act normally when his heart aches in a constant reminder that she is not part of his life anymore.

Donna doesn't say a word when he shows up for lunch alone, probably just guessing that he had fucked up once again. Although lunch passes smoothly with the usual joyful noise and chattering of his nieces, he can't ignore the pitied look in Donna's eyes. So it is just a matter of time and as soon as they are alone in the living room, having Robert conveniently take the girls for playing in the garden, Donna finally opens her mouth to talk with him.

"Don't judge me, Donna," he says before she can utter a single word.

"I won't," she sits next to him, placing a hand on his arm. "But you're miserable. And I can't just ignore this. What went wrong?"

"Nothing, really." "John, talk to me."

He closes his eyes, for an instant regretting coming, for thinking that he would find some comfort for his broken heart among his family. He looks at Donna, her eyes kindly watching him, patiently waiting for him to speak. And he can't refrain himself anymore, feelings pouring out of his mouth in a string of incoherent words.

"She deserves better than me, Donna. She is this young and beautiful woman, so clever and kind, who has an entire life just waiting for her. She is like a force of nature, able to bright an entire room with just one smile and to warm the coldest night with the shine of her eyes. And I," he takes a deep breath, the truth of how he feels about her leaving his lips out loud for the first time. "She deserves a future that I can never give to her."

It takes a moment for Donna to speak and when she does, her voice is soft and her hand comes to rest on top of one of his.

"You really love her."

He doesn't make an effort to deny it this time. There is no point. And admitting it, even if silently, only adds to the pain of letting her go.

"And Clara loves you," she continues. "I really doubt that she cares about the grey in your hair or the lines on your face."

So Donna seems to think the same like Amy, that Clara loves him. He is not so sure about it. He knows that she cared deeply for him and that she certainly fancied him, but it doesn't really matter.

"How she felt about me was never the point, Donna, nor the age gap. Not exactly at least," he crosses a tired hand through his face taking his time searching for the right words to explain it to

her. "The thing is that I won't be around her long enough. I can't promise her forever." "No one is promised forever, Doctor."  
Donna's squeezes his hand gently, to make him look at her.

"Once, there was this boy, a tall and confident lad, with a charming smile and eyes that shone like stars because his heart was full of love. He feared nothing, always held his head up proudly and kept fighting his way in a world that was so many times harsh and unfair with him because he believed that love could change people. He was my best friend, my big brother. My hero, teaching me to be strong and never give up."

Slowly he lifts his eyes to look at her.

"People grow up, Donna."

"Exactly. And he grew up to became this strong and loyal man, with a heart bigger than life." He smiles sadly, eyes searching for hers with honesty.

"Even in my best, I've never been this man, Donna. I wish I would've. But I haven't. I'm not."

"You're wrong, John. You've always been this man. You just have forgotten. Life took its toll on you. But Clara brought you back. So don't give up on her because you're afraid. She loves you. And you love her. And this is all that counts in the end."

"Not always," the sadness in his tone doesn't go unnoticed for her and he knows that she is aware of what he is talking about. He has loved before and that hadn't stop things from going wrong.

"It is, John. Even when things went wrong, even with River, love was what kept you together through everything and prevented you from shatter after..."

"Losing the baby," he finished quietly when she seems unable to do it. "But it didn't keep us from growing apart."

"No. But prevented you from destroying each other. It was out of love that you both let the other go when you started wanting different things in life."

"And that's why I'm letting Clara go, Donna."

"No, John," she shakes her head slightly, squeezing his hand in a last attempt to make him see the truth. "This time, you are pushing her away because you're afraid. It's ok to be afraid. But don't let fear take the best of you."

He thinks for some time, considering the truth of her words and his own feelings towards Clara.

"You should talk to her. Tell her all the truth, about your past, about your feelings and fears, just don't push her away without giving her, giving you both a real chance."

* * *

He decides to walk back home, desperately needing some fresh air to help him to put his thoughts and feelings in order. Donna and Amy's words linger heavily around. Maybe they're right and he has been just a massive idiot. He has, hasn't he? Realisation finally sinks into him like a knife and he wants to scream in frustration and anger.

She loves him, they believe. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe he can fix this mess he has done.

He knows that it won't be easy after what he had said to her, but he'll fight for a chance to tell her everything, to explain himself and ask for her forgiveness.

He rushes back home, hoping that she can be at her flat, praying that she will open her door. He is about to cross a street near their building when he catches a glimpse of someone that just looks like her, dark brown short tresses swaying while she walks away from him.

Without thinking twice, he runs among the cars trying to reach her, but the sounds of the car breaks are the last thing he hears before feeling his body flying in the air and hitting the ground. Then, everything goes black.


	12. Chapter 12

_**The Doctor wakes up in a strange place and everything hurts. He can't walk properly, can barely take care of himself and the Gala Night at the Uni is in the end of the week. But when you have friends, everything is possible.**_

* * *

 _Finally I got to update this story here! So here it is, hope you'll enjoy it._

* * *

He opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times until everything begins to get into focus. White. Everything is white in this strange place where he is. Too white. Too quiet. Well, not exactly. There is this annoying beeping sound coming from somewhere close to his head and now that he is really looking, the walls have a hint of colour here and there. Light blues and greens, nothing that can really distract someone, though. And there is, of course, this person that seems to fumble with something on his arm.

"Hello, Mr Smith," the young man shows him a soothing smile that strangely only serves to make him uneasy. "How are you feeling?"

The man continues to fuss with things around him and now a woman in a nurse uniform joins him. Why is she dressed like a nurse?

"Mr Smith? This is your name, right?" The man asks him in a gentle voice and he watches him pick a file from the foot of his bed.

He is confused for a moment. Smith? Well, he thinks it is. He blinks. Of course, it is. John Smith is the name. His name. So he nods and feels a sharp pain in his head.

"I wouldn't do it for a while," the young man smiles compliant. "I'm Doctor Carter, by the way."

"Where am I?" He swallows hard, feeling his throat raspy and sore. The woman nurse seems to have predicted it because she already has a plastic cup of water that she gives him and which he accepts gratefully.

"At the hospital. You had an accident this morning."

The fresh water is like a balsam to his dry throat and he closes his eyes for a moment. An accident. Right. He remembers it now. How stupid of him.

Clara. The sound of the car breaking and sliding over the road. The acute pain of his body falling to the ground. And finally, the darkness.

"Mr Smith?"

He opens his eyes again to look at the man. Doctor Carter. He is far too young to be a Doctor. Or maybe he is the one who is getting too old.

"Am I dying?"

He is sure Doctor Carter exchanges a small smile with the nurse.

"No. Actually, you are a very lucky man, Mr Smith, considering that you had been hit by a car."

He tries to move to take a good look at himself and hisses when he feels the atrocious pain in his right side. Somewhat he doesn't feel like a lucky man right now. Lifting his eyes, he meets the gaze of the young doctor again who seems to be happy in answering him his silent question.

"The pain at your right side is because you dislocated your shoulder and bruised a couple of ribs. Luckily nothing is broken."

He tries to lift an eyebrow at that, only to feel a discomfort on his forehead. With the fingers of his good hand, he feels the bandage that covers his head.

"You have small cuts and bruises on your face, hands, legs and arms and a twisted ankle. The only thing to really worry about is a small concussion. But you are doing great so far."

Dr Carter checks the monitors and takes some notes at the file in his hands, handing it to the nurse that disappears through the door.

"Now, Mr Smith," he stops beside his bed, kind dark eyes observing him, "we will have to keep you in here for at least 24 hours more because of the concussion."

He groans.

"It's not that bad," Dr Carter smiles. "The food is not great, but they made an amazing chocolate pudding that will worth the stay."

The nurse comes back with a couple of pills that she hands him with another glass of water.

"Do you have someone you'd like to call? A relative, maybe? Since you came here unconscious the only thing we find about you was your name."

He considers his question for a moment. Donna and Robert must be at the airport by now, flying for their family holidays, so there aren't really many options. The Ponds are completely out of the question. The last thing he needs right now is Amy fussing over him. Or worst. River. Because Amy will certainly call her. So, definitely not. No Ponds. Actually, now that he thinks about, he can only pray for not to be at the same hospital Rory works.

He sighs. There is Clara. But they are not talking to each other and he doesn't think that this is the right way to amend things with her since he can't even get straight onto his feet. Not to mention that the whole thing that put him in this hospital bed is because he was following her like a dumbstruck teenager.

Of course, he can always give a call to Jack Harkness. If his head weren't hurting so much he would've rolled his eyes at himself. Jack flirting with every single person in the hospital won't be of any help. So, no, bad idea. Which leaves him with no one else.

"No, there is no one to call," he finally answers, fiercely avoiding Dr Carter's eyes.

"Are you sure, Mr Smith? A friend, maybe?"

"Nope, no one."

The young doctor doesn't seem to believe him, though he doesn't insist. Maybe it's because his case is not really serious, it's just a bad collection of bruises and cuts at the end or maybe it's because he won't stay long at the hospital. Anyway, the good doctor just drops the matter and claps his hands with a faint smile.

"All right," he places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back in a couple hours to take a look at you again, Mr Smith. For now, rest. And don't hesitate to call the nurse if you need something."

"Thank you, doctor."

#

In the end, he is obliged to call Jack otherwise they wouldn't let him go home. And he has to admit it is for the best because how is he supposed to climb a flight of stairs on his own with one arm in a sling and the other occupied with an infuriating cane to help him stand with his twisted ankle?

Jack helps him to sit on the couch even under his protests, but all his words seem to go to deaf ears, while Jack fusses around him to make him tea and keeps going on the argument they had been having since they had left the hospital.

"I'll be fine on my own, Jack," he groans while the other man is peeking inside his refrigerator to be sure that he has enough food for the next days. "I still have one good hand to call for a take out. I won't starve."

"Stop being stubborn, Doctor. You need some help. Let me call Amy. Rory at least. They live downstairs and the guy is a nurse, for Christ sake!"

"No Ponds, I've told you! Ponds always will lead to River, no matter each one you pick."

Jack rolls his eyes at him.

"Clara then?"

"No!" He practically jumps and the sudden movement causes a moan to escape from his lips. Jack shakes his head.

"Come on, Doc! Even if she hates you now I doubt she would refuse to help you! Besides it can be a really good way to mend things, you know-"

"No, Jack. Forget about Clara, right?"

Jack snorts. "You are really stubborn, aren't you?"

"You should know better than insult a man with a cane," he points it menacingly at Jack and the other man lifts his hands in surrender, sitting next to him with a heavy sigh. After a moment, he looks at him with amusement.

"You seriously in need of a shower, Doctor," Jack lifts his brows, a wicked grin crossing his lips.

"In your dreams!" He snorts and Jack shrugs still grinning. "I can surely bath myself, thank you very much. Now, time for you to go. Come on, off you pop. That bar of yours doesn't manage itself."

Jack shakes his head and finally stands walking to the front door.

"Keep your phone close. I'll call you from time to time to check on you and will immediately call Amy if you don't answer me."

The Doctor rolls his eyes with a groan.

"I'm being serious," Jack adds from the front door.

"I know you are," he shows his phone to him and places it back into his trousers pocket. "Happy?"

"Good boy," Jack gives him a bright grin and opens the door to leave but turns around to look at him when he calls his name.

"And Jack," this time he smiles honestly. "Thank you. Really."

"Don't mention it, Doctor," he winks before he closes the door at his back.

#

Some things prove to be more challenging than others with his injuries, but even in pain, he manages to take a shower, get dressed in comfortable clothes and put his arm back inside the immobiliser sling.

Even with his stubble of almost three days he instantly quits the idea of shaving. He has already enough cuts at his face to risk losing his nose at the prospect of shaving with his left hand. So, maybe this is the time he will grow a beard after all.

He limps back to the couch and makes himself comfortable there, drinking from the bottle of water Jack had left at the side table for him.

He will have to call sick for the next couple days, there is no way he can go to work like this when he can barely stand up. And then, there is the matter of the gala on Friday. He knows that his absence will certainly make some of those old snobs at the Department too happy and that is something he can't have it. He had fought too much for re-build his life, stepping over too many feet to give them the pleasure of not seeing him receiving an award for his achievements. So, this time, he won't be sulking at home. He will find a way to go, even if he needs to hire someone to carry him there.

#

He calls the University on Monday morning to inform them of his absence for the next few days but assures the Department's secretary that he will attend the gala.

Jack fulfils his promise of checking on him from time to time and calls him twice a day. Miraculously, he also doesn't tell anyone about his condition and the Doctor can't be more grateful for that because it gives him the peace of mind to recover from the many injuries he has, not only the physical ones, the hurt on Clara's eyes still too fresh in his memory.

Though he knows that he can't avoid her forever since she lives next door, nothing could have prepared him to meet Clara in the hallway a couple of days later. The horrified look on her face when she sees him in such state only serves to make his heart ache even more.

"Oh, my God! What happened to you?" She instantly walks towards him, any signs of her angry and hurt totally obscured by the clear worry in her eyes.

"Nothing," he leans against the wall to keep his balance while he tries to close his door.

"Well, unless nothing is a name of a truck, I really doubt it," she carefully touches his arm and he freezes. How could he be such a fool thinking that he could live without her?

"Doctor?"

He sighs, eyes fixed on the gentle hand that rests on his arm, unable to meet hers.

"I had an accident," he says as if it wasn't something obvious.

He feels her eyes on him and all he wants is to run away from there, the faster the better, although he knows that in his actual condition it won't be any fast at all.

"You look horrible," she doesn't move nor take her hand from his arm.

"Now I really feel better," he grumbles once more trying to close his door, but she prevents him, taking hold of his hand. His foolish old heart just jumps, possibly thinking that this single gesture can mean something else.

"Sorry, I didn't..." A low sigh leaves her lips as she seems to struggle with words and her voice is soft when she speaks again. "Where are you going anyway? You should stay at home in such a state."

There is an evident concern in her tone and somewhere inside him, he starts to hope that maybe she still cares for him.

"I have to be somewhere," he finally gathers enough courage to lift his eyes to her and instantly regrets it. Big brown eyes stare at him, so full of things that he'd rather ignore at the moment because this is not the right place nor the right time to tell her everything that lies in his heart. His voice is raspy when he adds, "I'm getting late."

"You can barely walk. How can you think you can go downstairs like this?"

"Look, Clara, I really appreciate your concern," the words stumble out of his mouth before he can stop them and he doesn't need to see her eyes to know that once more he'd hurt her. He swallows hard and ignores the sharp pain in his heart. "I just need to go."

If she is shaken by his rudeness, she conceals it well. "Call whoever is waiting for you and tell them you can't."

"It's not something that I can just cancel."

"Why not?"

He closes his eyes for a short moment knowing that she will think he is the silliest man in the universe. Well, if she didn't think it already, that is.

"There is this gala at the University tonight and I should be there to receive an award. They're waiting for me. I can't simply not show up."

She looks at him for a moment, intently dark eyes studying his as if she wanted to read his soul. Deep inside his heart, he wishes she could. Maybe then, she would know about all the things he doesn't dare to say to her.

"Well, you can't show up there like this either," she pushes his door open and commands him to get inside with a motion of her hand.

"Clara..." He starts but she cuts him off.

"You are clearly insane for pushing yourself this hard when you are in such pain." He opens his mouth to protest, but she places one finger on his lips to prevent him, the warmth of her skin sending a wave of electricity down through his body that she seems to ignore. Her tone is gentle despite the worry in her eyes when she goes on. "I can only understand that this is something really important to you."

"It is," he quietly agrees.

"Right," she nods. "So let me help you."

He blinks. "Help me?"

"You don't really think you can show up in front of all those old snobs at the Uni looking like someone that had been hit by a car."

He almost smiles, his eyes softening a little. "I have been hit by a car."

"Oh."

She seems mortified, clear shock crossing her features before she regains her composure to give a small tug on the hand she still holds.

"Exactly. Now, come in. You can tell me what happened while I try to make you more presentable."

"It's very kind of you, Clara, but I'll be late. Besides, there is a taxi already waiting for me downstairs."

She sighs.

"It's not the time to be stubborn, Doctor. Please, come in, and let me worry about the rest, ok? What time do you need to be there?"

"Eight," he steps inside with a resigned sigh knowing that she won't give up now, no matter what he tells her, but he is forced to explain himself when she frowns looking at his watch. "I planned to get there earlier since I can't really walk fast," he shows her his cane.

"Good. This means that we have enough time then," she closes the door behind her and picks her phone to make a call.

"Hey, Amy!"

He groans and tries to stop her, but the pain in his shoulder prevents him from reaching her.

"Look, I have a kind of a situation here. Can you meet me at the Doctor's?"

He hears Amy's excited voice at the other side of the phone and sees when Clara bites her lip, her cheeks turning pink. Of course, Amy thought that they... Good Lord.

"No, not exactly," Clara explains, turning her back to him. "Just, please, come upstairs and I will explain it to you, right? But first, can you dismiss the taxi that is waiting for the Doctor in front of the building?"

She hangs up and turns around to look at him.

"You really don't have any idea of what you've done."

She gives him a coy smile as if trying to regain her own confidence.

"I just called for reinforcements," she sits next to him on the couch but keeps a good distance between them. "Besides, if you really want to go to this gala thing to rub your award at the faces of those cocky and snob scholars, you really need us. So, stop complaining and let me help you."

He looks at her for a moment, their eyes meeting for the first time sending a thrill down his spine at the realisation of how much he misses her.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

A knock on the door stops her to give him the obvious answer and she runs to open it, allowing Amy inside. He closes his eyes and prepares himself for the worst.

"Oh, my God!"

"Amy, please, spare me from the obvious comments. Clara had already made all of them."

Amy blinks and looks from him to Clara.

"Hit by a car," Clara explains to her, nodding slowly. "Don't know the details, but we need your help."

"When? How? Why didn't you call us before, you idiot!"

He groans and glares at Clara but she just ignores him.

"No time for this now, Amy. He needs to be at the Uni at eight, for a gala award thing."

"Wait! You don't expect to go to the award in this state, do you?"

He really wants to kick something right now. And he would do it if it wouldn't hurt too much.

"Amy, you, more than anyone else know that I need to be there," he says and his voice sounds more tired than he really is even to his own ears, but that seems to have the desired effect.

Amy opens her mouth to say something but gives up, understanding replacing the fury in her eyes when she just nods.

"Ok. How can I help?"

The two women exchange a grin and he starts to fear for himself.

#

Amy goes down to her place with a fresh white shirt and his tux jacket promising them it will come back perfectly ironed. When he protested about it, all he heard from both of them is that his actual clothes are too wrinkled and he looks like he has just jumped out of the washing machine.

Clara escorts him to his bathroom and helps him to sit at one of the kitchen stools to inform him that she will shave him. He doesn't have the energy to protest and just silently watches her while she slowly spreads the shaving cream on his face and takes special care of the small bruises that are still healing on his cheeks. The touch of her small fingers, soft and warm against his skin, make his heart race and her closeness steal the air from his lungs. It is almost more that he can bear. She slides the razor on his skin carefully, eyes entirely focused at her task and he is grateful for this because he doesn't know if he will be able to control himself if those dark orbs of her stare into his.

He wants to touch her face, run a gentle finger along the contour of her lips to feel the softness of her skin under his touch. His mouth is dry and he never thought that someone could really die for a kiss, but he thinks that he will, and soon.

Clara finishes it and gingerly wipes the rests of the shaving cream away from his face with a soft towel, admiring her work for a short moment before her eyes finally meet his. She instantly blushes, eyes moving away from him making him suddenly conscious that he had been staring at her for the entire time.

"Done," her voice comes out in a whisper and he obliges himself to look away, feeling the heat coming up to his cheeks. For a moment, they remain silent, his heart thumping out of control until he finally speaks.

"Now what?" He asks her, lifting his eyes slowly to look at her again.

"Hair."

He swallows hard when she slides her fingers through his curls trying to tame them just enough to make him look more respectable. But this is his final undoing. It doesn't matter if she hates him right now, it doesn't matter all his struggle to seem nonchalant, he misses her too much to keep pretending that her closeness doesn't affect him. So his good hand moves to find its place on her waist and she instantly freezes at the contact.

"Clara," he breathes, eyes fixed on her face, heart pounding heavily in his chest. But she closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"Don't," she whispers and tries to move away but he doesn't let go of her, his long fingers gently keeping hold of her wrist.

"Please," his voice is hoarse when he slowly pulls her back to him, a feather-like touch of his forefinger on her chin to make her look at him. "Clara, I-"

"Clara?" Amy's voice coming from the living room interrupts him abruptly and he lets out a resigned sigh.

"I'm coming!" Clara steps away from him and he watches her practically run back to the living room.

#

"I have good news," Amy shows Clara a very pristine white shirt perfectly ironed in a coat hanger before she adds, biting her lower lip. "And some not so good news..."

Clara's eyes go wide in horror when the other woman lifts the Doctor's tux jacket that now sports a very large and unmistakable iron mark burned in the left breast.

"Amy!"

"I know, I know! I'm really sorry..."

The Doctor comes in just in time to admire Amy work.

"Jesus, Amy! This is just..." He inhales deeply, feeling a headache forming at his temples. "Precious," he finishes, clearly biting back a string of curses under Clara's glare.

"But, don't worry," Amy announces proudly, practically shoving the Doctor's clothes into Clara's arms and picking her phone to make a call before anyone can say a word. "I already have a backup plan!"

"Amy, please-"

"Shh!" She lifts one finger to silence him "Jack! I need a huge favour," they hear her voice before she vanishes into the hallway towards his bedroom.

The Doctor rolls his eyes so hard that Clara thinks that they will pop out of their sockets any time making her bite her lip to push back a laugh.

"Next time," he glares at her, "you should listen to me."

#

How Jack manages to find a perfect tux for the Doctor (and whatever is inside the other bag that he places on the living room floor) and get there in twenty minutes is a mystery to all of them. The Doctor and Clara watch the exchange between Jack and Amy with suspicion especially when he shows them his sparkling perfect grin to assure her that he has everything she has asked for.

"Ok, Doc, you come with me. I think the ladies have some other business to attend." Jack gives him a soft pad in the shoulder, lifting the hang with the tux he has brought him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I will help you to get dressed."

"I can very well get dressed by myself," the Doctor picks the hanger from Jack's hands and the younger man rolls his eyes when he almost loses his balance.

"As if I hadn't seen you in less than your boxers before."

Clara and Amy exchange an amused look, a smirk openly hanging in the red-haired lips.

"All right, boys. We don't have time for this right now. So, Doctor, it is better to accept Jack's help," Amy says, ignoring the groan that leaves the Doctor's lips but not Jack's wicked grin. "And you," she pokes Jack in the chest before she starts to pull him in the general direction of the Doctor's bedroom. "Behave yourself," she laughs when Jack raises his hands in mock surrender, disappearing through the hallway to be followed by a very grumpy and limping Doctor.

"Now, Oswald," she finally turns around to Clara, collecting the huge bag from the floor, "you come with me to your place."

"What for?" Clara can't be more surprised by when her friend starts to pull her to the front door.

"You have a party to attend."

Clara freezes in her spot.

"Come again?"

Amy huffs, impatiently as if it is Clara's fault not following her plan. "You are going to the gala with the Doctor."

"Wait? What? No!" Clara is shocked, wide eyes looking in horror at Amy.

"Yes, you are," the Scot practically pulls her into the hallway and to her place. "You saw the man, he can barely walk by himself. He obviously needs someone to help him."

"And why me? It is a Uni thing, you should be the one to go," she then turns quickly to face her friend, suspicion in her eyes. "You are going to the gala, aren't you?"

"No, I can't. I promised Rory that we will..." Amy stops herself and squints her eyes at her. "I promise Rory that we will do a thing. A thing that is none of your business, before you start asking. So, you are the best option."

Amy reaches for her keys in her pockets and Clara slaps her hands away.

"No! No way!" She crosses her arms stubbornly in front of her chest. "He broke up with me. It's not like everything is alright right now just because he is all injured." Clara bites her lower lip, thinking about him. "Besides, I don't even have a dress for a gala."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Amy points a thumb to the bag on the floor, "I'm pretty sure Jack just brought you something stunning."

Clara stares at the other woman open mouthed. "So is there a dress for me inside the bag?"

"Yep," she pops the 'p' purposefully and grins wickedly at her. "So, come on, Oswald. Time is ticking and in a couple of minutes more, your ride will be here."

Clara snorts.

"I can't go with him! He made it very clear that he doesn't want me around last time we talked."

"And did you believe him?"

"Amy, please..." she sighs.

"I know, Clara. I know," Amy offers her a soft smile. "He is an idiot. But he needs our help. Yours better than mine, right now. So, please, open the door and let's get you dressed for a party."

#

Impressively, it doesn't take too long for the two women come back to his place and when Clara steps inside, he thinks that his heart has just stopped. She is a vision in a red dress that fits her curves perfectly, her dark eyes boldly searching for his and making it hard to breathe.

"Am I a genius or what?" Jack grins widely looking from one to another.

"Maybe a magician," Amy laughs. "How did you get these clothes so quickly?"

The Doctor feels the lingering gazes of the others upon him too, but he is too absorbed by Clara's presence just in front of him to even care about what Amy and Jack are bragging up about at his back. He just can't take his eyes away from her, not that he really wants to do it. Surprisingly, she doesn't shy away either and that rekindles the hope in his heart that perhaps there is still a way of fixing the things between them.

"You look stunning," he finally finds the words to tell her.

Her cheeks are adorably pink and his heart just flutters at the first sign of a dimple, sparkling brown eyes still sustaining his gaze.

"You don't look so bad either, Doctor."

If he were a braver man, he would walk towards her and take her in his arms and never let her go.

The room is oddly quiet and he realises that they are alone, having Amy and Jack mysteriously vanished without none of them noticing it. So maybe this is the time. Slowly, he steps closer, trying to do his best to not limp while he searches in his heart the right words to ask for her forgiveness. But it comes out all wrong.

"You don't need to do this," he catches himself saying and instantly blushes because this is not even closer to what he wants to tell her.

"I know you don't want me around. But you need someone to help you. And it seems you'll have to settle with me."

Despite her words, her tone is soft and her voice doesn't falter nor her gaze, steady fixed on him.

"Let me do this right," he gives a couple more of steps towards her to stand right in front of her, heart thumping loudly inside his chest. "I'll be delighted and honoured if you accept to go with me to the gala."

There is a look of surprise in her eyes while she searches his own in silence. But there is no time for an answer because Amy and Jack storm back into the room to warn them that it is time to go.

"Your carriage awaits for you, Cinderella," Amy's tease earns her a glare from him that she answer with a smirk.

#

"I didn't know you had a car," he tells Amy when they finally get downstairs, thanking Jack for his precious help with a genuine smile.

"I don't," Amy grins mischievously opening the building doors for them. "My aunt has."

He stops open-mouthed to stare at the figure of the blonde woman that leans against a car parked just in front of the building. Her mass of golden curls sway with the soft breeze and he needs to lean heavily on Jack because that can't be happening.

"Hello, sweetie," she smiles at him, familiar green eyes sparkling under the streetlights.

"River," he breathes out and she keeps smiling, eyes analysing him from head to toe for a moment too long.

"You're dressed to kill, but still look like hell."

He ruffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes at her.

"Welcome to the club. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"I'm your ride, sweetie," she walks towards him, hips swaying under a too mischievous smile, green eyes running over him appreciatively despite what she had just told. With a lift of one eyebrow, she acknowledges Jack standing next to him.

"Good to see you, Jack."

"Same here, gorgeous."

The wide grin on Jack's face makes him want to scream because frankly, things are just getting insane. With a groan, he glares at Amy, his thick eyebrows forming a single angry hairy line in the middle of his forehead, but the Scot girl only smiles.

"Oh, don't look at me like this, Doctor! You know perfectly that River is the only one capable of driving you there in time, so don't even start to complain. And please, get into the car."

He let out an indignant huff.

"I want to get there quick, but I intend to do it alive and in one piece."

Rivers laughs.

"Oh, but you will, sweetie. Now, come on, everybody on board or not even me can take you there on time." Her eyes come to rest upon Clara for a short moment. "So, you are Clara."

Clara blushes furiously and River just winks at her impishly, throwing at both of them a mischievous grin before she gets inside the car so none of them heard when she murmurs.

"And you look just perfect for each other."

#

As soon as they make the first turn around the corner, Clara completely understands that the Doctor's comments about their safety aren't an ex-husband exaggerating thing. River drives really fast and probably breaks the majority of the traffic's laws in England in the few minutes she takes to get them to the University. A new world record probably.

Showing a badge at one of the security guards, she manages to get them into a private parking lot that put them as close as possible to the building where the gala is being held. Still, it will be a long walk to the entrance hall, considering the Doctor's condition.

But for their surprise, when she finally gets him out of the car, Amy is already waiting for them outside with a wheelchair, mostly for the Doctor's dismay.

"No way!" He points an accusatory bony finger at the Scot that makes her roll her eyes at him. "I'm already looking terrible enough."

"Oh, stop being stubborn! It is the safest and fastest way to get you inside the great hall. Besides, I've already arranged to take you through the backdoor, so no one will see your undignified entrance."

The Doctor casts a desperate look at Clara, searching for any support, but by now, Clara can't agree more with Amy. Walking that distance can only make his wounds worst and since no one there is strong enough to carry him in the arms, the wheelchair seems to be the only logic solution.

Glancing at River just to be sure that the three woman has matched up against him, he sighs and let himself fall into the chair, a scowl on his face that makes the three of them hide similar smiles.

"Bye, sweetie. Have a good time!" River waves at him coming back inside of the car when Clara starts to push him through the path.

For a very skinny man, the Doctor is far too heavy and Clara needs Amy's help to push the wheelchair to the back entrance where someone opens the door, already waiting for them. As soon as they get in, the Doctor stands up and smoothes his clothes with his good hand.

"Now, you two, put a smile on your faces, go there and shine!" Amy smiles broadly at them and she steps close to Clara to kiss her cheek.

"I still don't know how you convinced me doing these things," Clara whispers at Amy's ear.

"Oh, but you do, Clara Oswald," she winks at her and the sound of the Doctor clearing his throat makes them turn around to face him.

"I guess I should thank you, Amy."

"Nah, not yet at least. Maybe later," she laughs and turns around taking the wheelchair with her, letting them both alone outside the great hall doors.

From behind the closed doors, they can hear the sounds of the cocktail party going inside and Clara feel her hands sweaty and her heart beating unsteady under his gaze.

This is a mistake, she is sure about it. Until the end of the night, one of both of them will be hurt again. And yet, she had just ignored all her common sense and had agreed with Amy's ridiculous plan for bringing them together. As if it was easy to forget what he had said her, the way he had hurt her feelings, dumping her without any rational explanation.

"Shall we?" His voice brings her out of her reverie, but yet, she doesn't dare to look at him, keeping her gaze on the floor. "I would offer you my arm, but..." he makes a show of twirling his cane in front of her.

Clara hesitates. There is still time to go back without making any fuss. She can just turn around, call a taxi, go home and forget that in a moment of weakness she was about to fall for his charms again. She lifts her eyes to look at him and it is the biggest mistake she could've done because there are so many things in those impossible blue-grey eyes of his. A familiar spark that she recognises lights them up and make them bluer, like they had earlier when they had been alone in his living room. It is the same one that had always been there for her and only for her.

There is a lump in her throat when she finally starts to walk beside him, letting him guide their pace to cross the doors to the great hall.

#

The place is softly illuminated and the sound of a string quartet that plays at a corner brings certain quiet sophistication to the atmosphere. People elegantly dressed chat and sip from their drinks and Clara can't avoid noticing how all of them act like there isn't a single thing in this world that can take away their good mood. And for one moment, Clara almost envies them.

As they walk further into the great hall, the Doctor walking just with a small limp which probably is costing him a great effort, it is impossible to ignore the many heads that turn around to look at them. She can feel him tensing up next to her and his persistent silence only makes this situation they've gotten themselves into even more awkward.

Fortunately, a friendly face shows up as they're approached by a tall and dark haired man, the head of the History Department, as the Doctor quickly informs her. His friendly demeanour helps to ease her a little bit as he greets them both with a warm smile.

"Doctor! I was surprised to hear that you'd be attending so soon after your accident," he offers him a friendly hand. "But it is really good to see that you're recovering well."

"Not as quickly as I'd like to, George, but, yeah," the Doctor smiles despite himself, resting the cane against his body to shake the extended hand of his friend. "I'm doing fine, you can say."

"Well, we're all glad that you're here," the man quickly turns to her, his perfect smile never faltering while his dark eyes hover over her figure in a way that can be described as anything but friendly. Probably ignoring it, the Doctor introduces them both.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Oswald," the man grins at her exaggeratedly, taking her hand in his clammy one and Clara does her best to not to cringe when his fingers rest on hers longer than necessary. Next to her, the Doctor shifts uncomfortably on his feet and George takes that as a sign to call someone to show them a place to sit until they all can move from the great hall to the big room where the dinner and the award ceremony will take place.

"Are you sure they need investors?" She asks him, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and watching him politely refuse one to himself.

"It is the entire point of this evening, actually," he looks at the waiter. "Can you get me a glass of water, please?"

She lifts a questioning eyebrow and he adds as soon as the waiter disappears among the other guests. "Though I really need something stronger to drink tonight, I can't. Doctor's prescription."

Clara just nods, trying to keep the conversation going on to avoid any other awkward moments.

"What is this award you're receiving?"

"Someone in the English History Society seemed to take an interest in my latest published works," he says like he wants to finish the topic but she keeps looking at him expectantly and he adds with a grimace. "Chivalry at the Elizabethan court. A boring thing, actually."

"Well," she sipped from her drink and watches him as the waiter come back with the water he has asked for. "It shouldn't be since you've chosen to write about it."

"I'm not very good at making the right choices," he says after a moment, his eyes intently scanning her face as he waits for her.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

He covers her hand gently with his as if he wants to placate her sudden irritation.

"It means that we need to talk," he says quietly and his face falls a little when she removes her hand from his.

"Here? Now? You want to do this now?"

"Of course not now. Later. Somewhere else."

She opens her mouth to protest, but he holds her hand once more, a silent plea in his eyes.

"I know that you must hate me right now, but, please, give me a chance to explain myself."

She feels a lump forming in her throat and fights against the urge of turning her back to him and run away, from him, from this place and all the people that keep looking at them like they were a pair of exotic animals. But there is this part of her that continues so besotted by him as ever that keeps her relishing in his closeness, in his touch. Besides, she can't just ignore the way he keeps looking at her like he had always done before as if she is his everything.

"I don't hate you," she catches herself telling him, eyes cast down to their hands. "I tried to. Really hard. But... I could never hate you," the last words come out in a whisper when she closes her eyes. She doesn't see the glint of tears forming in the corners of his eyes, but feels the gentle squeeze of his hand in hers before he removes it quickly, the fragile moment broken up by the approaching of someone telling them that it is time to get into the dining room.

#

They place them at the closest table to the front which makes it easier for him to reach the pulpit from where he gives his speech in acceptance of his award. It is short but consistent, or at least she thinks it is, having lost herself completely in him as soon as he looked into her eyes from up there.

The Doctor makes a joke that she doesn't get because she can't concentrate in his words, only in the way his eyes shine and his lips curl into a small smile that she knows is there only for her. And it hurts and thrills her at the same time. She can barely contain herself in the wind whirl of emotions that run wild through her when he joins her again with a coy smile.

Clara wishes that they could just leave and can see the same desire reflected in the blue of his eyes, but they still have to go through the dinner. So she tries her best to engage in conversation with the people they are sharing the table with and less in the warmth of his solid presence next to her. Which is a challenge, not only because of him and his dimpled smiles and the way his eyes shine every time they meet hers but because the others seem more interest in bragging about their own academic skills than to chat. Not that she can't keep up with a bunch of scholars talking about Elizabethan times, but the truth is they are all boring her to death.

Beside her, despite having spare a comment or two in the current conversation, the Doctor seems to be as impatient as her. Especially because keeping his manners at the table when you have only one hand to use is a real challenge. Clara helps him a little with the knife when it is needed two hands to cut something, but tries to not interfere too much to not embarrass him.

"It's really nice of you to come to help your father, Miss Oswald," the woman sitting next to her says with a smile so fake that makes Clara want to smack her in the head. Her malicious comment is made only to jab them because by now it must be obvious that whatever it is between Clara and the Doctor is far from a father and daughter relationship.

The Doctor tense up next to her, his face hard when he stares at the woman with a pair of crossed eyebrows darkening his eyes, placing his hand over Clara's to prevent her from talking.

"Oh, Mabel, if this is your polite way of calling me an old pervert, you should make your comments straight to me. Not that I doubt that Miss Oswald here can defend herself against your malicious mouth, but I'm too much of a gentleman to let her do it. Miss Oswald, Clara, is a very good friend of mine."

"Doctor," Mabel's husband, a pleasant man named Tom, interrupts his rant trying to placate things. "Mabel was just confused, right Mabel? She didn't mean to offend you or Miss Oswald."

Mabel looks like she is everything but confused right now, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth up and, for a moment, Clara herself doesn't know what to do with all of this. Until she does.

"Well, Mabel. Can I call you Mabel? I think I can now that you so politely tried to offend us by your own prejudiced views. So, Mabel, the shocking news are that the Doctor and I were once far more than good friends. In fact, I'd fallen in love with him, because behind all of his awkwardness there is a wonderful human being, a kind, loving and generous man. And everything would still be perfect if he only could believe in that." She takes a deep breath and stands, not daring to look at him. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I think that this is my cue to go."

#

He tries to reach for her hand to stop her, but Clara is already a couple of steps away when he gets out of his shock to move.

Mabel opens her mouth to talk, but her husband makes the only decent thing to do.

"Shut up, Mabel. You've already done enough for tonight," he looks back at the Doctor. "You should go after her."

"It's not like I can run after her," the Doctor gives him a sad smile.

"No, of course, you can't. But I can do something about," he stands up quickly and walks to the security guy by the main door. They talk for a moment and a minute later Tom comes back with a smile. "Now, you go after her. They won't allow her to leave the building."

The Doctor's eyebrows raise in surprise but he stands up with the help of his cane. "I don't think she will take this well," he sighs. "Anyway, what did you tell them?"

"That she has forgotten something inside," he gives him a coy smile. "Which is not too far from the truth actually."


	13. Chapter 13

_**The Doctor finally talks to Clara and tells her about his demons.**_

* * *

 _I finally got to update this story in here. This one is for all of you lovelies that are still with me. You know who you are. Thanks a lot!_

* * *

He finds her close to the main entrance, casting now and then angry glances to the security guy who stands by the door. Probably relieved by his approach, the man gives him a short nod and moves quickly to the far end of the hall, putting as much distance between them as he can.

Her eyes come to meet his for a brief moment.

"Smooth move," Clara snaps at him before she gives him her back to look through one of the many tall windows from the centenary building façade.

He bites his lower lip.

"You should save your thanks for Tom," he says after a moment.

His steps echo over the marble floor, his gaze lost for a brief moment in the intricate patterns over the tiles while he walks towards her. But he is forced to stop because of sharp pain that runs from his ankle to his calf, his face contorting in a grimace that Clara doesn't see, still facing the window.

"Tom?" She asks him, arms stubbornly folded in front of her chest, eyes lost at some point at the distance. He takes a deep breath and walks the reminiscent steps that separate them, his arm brushing hers lightly when he stops by her side, again unable to resist the pull that has always made him gravitate around her.

"Mabel's husband."

"Ah," she stands still and he follows her gaze to look at the lights outside. "Lovely friends you have, by the way."

Despite the situation, there is a hint of amusement in her tone that makes the corners of his lips twitch up a bit. He watches her image reflecting in the glass window and tries to guess what is going on inside of her right now.

Her words to Mabel still ring in his ears. Love. She had fallen in love with him. Him! The thought is enough to paralyse him and steal from his lips the words he wants so much to tell her. For an instant, he closes his eyes, trying to put old demons under control and force himself to reconnect with her through the warmth of the faint touch of her arm in his. It won't be easy, but he needs to tell her everything.

"I'm sorry," his voice finally comes out in a whisper. "About everything." She shifts next to him and, though her eyes are still stubbornly avoiding him, he feels like she is an inch closer and that gives him the courage to go on. "I want to talk with you."

Pain seems to be his worst enemy as a new wave runs through his leg making him search his pockets in vain for his pills. He's probably forgotten them at home. His discomfort doesn't go unnoticed by her and she finally looks at him with concerned eyes.

"You're in pain. You should go home," her voice is quiet and her tone is plain but her beautiful eyes betray the emotions that run through her.

"Believe me," he adjusts his grip on his cane, putting more weight on his good leg. "My injuries are not what pain me the most right now."

A heavy silence falls between them as she sustains his gaze, the moment broke by the sounds of the party coming through a door someone has open. Steps echo through the great hall and a couple passes them by, chatting quietly and exchanging languid smiles, so absorbed in each other that they don't even notice their presence close to the windows.

"There is a small garden just behind those doors," he says when they're alone again, motioning his head towards the double French doors that stand on their left. "There we can sit and talk."

"Doctor, we-"

#

"Please," his eyes stare into hers, so bare and vulnerable and Clara feels her resolve crumbling. Of course, she wants to talk to him, there has been no other thing in her mind since that disastrous night. But she dreads the moment, fearing that his explanations only will reinforce why he doesn't want to be with her. And even if his eyes tonight keep telling her a completely different story, she can't stop fearing to have her heart broken once more.

The Doctor doesn't wait for her response and walks towards the doors, his limp more evident now than in the beginning of the night. It's clear that he is pushing himself too hard and she is afraid that this will only make his wounds worse. Clara watches him while he leans against the doors to use his weight to keep it open and waits for her, a silent plea in the grey-blue of his eyes.

For a moment, Clara hesitates, but the reality of this moment strikes her at last. He is here, willing to open up as it seems, and Clara knows that if she refuses this conversation, it is quite possible he'll close himself again and she won't have another chance anytime soon. And he is right, there is no reason to prolong her suffering anymore, they need to talk and make things clear, for better or for worse.

So, she steps over her own fears and crosses the doors to the garden to be embraced by the cool night air outside. The garden is smaller than her living room, but it's cosy in a very intimate way, with a dark wooden bench just in the middle, under a small birch and beds of daffodils surrounding the place.

They sit side by side on the bench in an awkward silence and, from the corner of her eye, she sees him stretching the sore muscles of his leg, resting his cane between them on the bench.

For someone who had practically begged for a conversation, he is remarkably quiet and she feels her nerves in the pitch of her stomach. She folds her arms in front of her chest, as much as to keep the warmth than to hide her trembling hands.

Her gaze follows the slow motion of his foot, his shoe clicking on the gravel floor when he drags it still searching for a more comfortable position. As much as she doesn't expect this conversation to be an easy one, his persistent silence is unnerving and she can't bear it anymore.

"I thought you didn't want me around anymore," she nudges him avoiding his gaze when the Doctor looks at her in surprise as if he is carefully considering the proper meaning of her words.

"I lied," he states simply after a moment.

"Why?"

Another long pause. It is a real struggle for him, she feels it and it only increases her anxiety. He doesn't look at her when he speaks, eyes focused on the daffodils that sway lightly with the breeze.

"Because I'm not the right person for you. I could be your father."

"Well, you're not!" She is slightly miffed by his words, eyes widening in surprise. Of all the things she expects him to tell her, this certainly isn't one of them. He has never cared about their age gap, of that she is sure, so he is still pushing her away again with half-truths.

"You saw them tonight, you felt-"

"I don't give a fuck about what people think about our age difference, I don't care about it," she cuts him off and takes a deep breath to control her exasperation. "And I know you well enough to be sure that you don't either. So, why? What are you not telling me?"

He sustains her gaze for a long moment, eyes carefully scanning hers.

"Do you?" He finally asks her in a quiet tone. "Do you really know me, Clara Oswald? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not the man you think I am."

Clara is not sure if it is the soft breeze that blows with a little more intensity or the somber tone of his voice that makes her shiver and she instinctively tightens her arms around herself trying to keep warm. It's the sound of a low groan that makes her look up at him once more, surprise when she sees him shaking one arm in a strange motion that is obviously causing him pain.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Take off my coat," he grumbles, brows furrowed in frustration because he isn't able to do it alone with his right arm stuck in that sling. "But I should know better than trying to be a gentleman in my condition."

Their eyes met for a quick second and he blushes under her gaze, forcing Clara to press her lips together to conceal from him what's about to become a smile.

And he dares to think that she doesn't know him, this adorable idiot that had stolen her heart between cups of coffee and the gentleness of his heart that he insists on hiding behind a scowl.

"Please, keep it on," she resists the urge of touching his arm to reassure him. "I'm not cold."

"You're sure?" He looks at her for a moment, a frown still on his face. "Because you look cold. Maybe you should sit closer to me. I can keep you warm."

With a tilt of her head, she lifts one eyebrow at him and he blushes even further, shutting his eyes with a sigh.

"I didn't mean it in that way. I just..." He runs his good hand through his curls, the way his long fingers entangle with those silver locks in the top of his head is just too distracting and makes her wish she could do it once more. But this is not why she is here. And when he keeps silent again, she needs to nudge him once more.

"Why do you think I don't know you?"

He turns his head to face her, flashes of green and grey in the blue of his eyes telling her about the turmoil of emotions inside of him.

"I have a past, I've made mistakes, things of which I'm not proud of. Things that still even now hang over my head as a shadow, a stain. And it is completely wrong, not to mention, very, very selfish of me to drag you into this." She opens her mouth to protest, but he prevents her with a touch on her arm. "You should be with someone not broken by his past, someone who can stay around for longer and who can offer you a future, Clara."

And there it is, the moment she has been dreading. And it is almost maddening because the words that leave his lips don't match in any possible way with what she sees in his eyes right now.

"The future is promised to no one, Doctor," she says over the lump in her throat. "And the past, it is in the past."

He opens his mouth to talk, but closes it again, eyes dropping to his feet. Her hands grip the edges of the bench with such a strength that makes her knuckles white. After a painful moment, it's her voice that breaks the silence again.

"Tell me."

He lifts his eyes to meet hers and she continues.

"Tell me about those things you regret so much that you're willing to give up on us to protect me." Her eyes scan his face slowly. "Tell me your story, and let me decide."

A lot of emotions cross his face in the short moment that takes him to start to talk. When he does it, his voice is quiet but controlled, as if he is trying to distance himself of what he is about to tell her.

"I was a journalist once, you already know it. Started as a young lad, still in Glasgow. Moved to London a couple of years after I graduated. Worked hard and built a respectable career. I had a solid reputation in the business that took me to the post of editor-in-chief of Today Magazine," he pauses, eyes gazing into the distance.

She is familiar with the name, remembers seeing the weekly printed editions always over the coffee table in her father's living room when she was a teen, at everybody's living room's, to be honest. Even if she wasn't really interested in reading it, she remembers a time when Today had been one of the most important news magazines in the UK. And the Doctor had been its editor-in- chief. She tries to hide her surprise and keeps silence, waiting for him to continue.

"But then, things changed. In a very unexpected manner. One day, I was on the top of the world, married, had my dream job, a very comfortable life, and in the next, I was in the middle of a scandal involving high-ranked government people and accused of corruption and theft of government privileged information," a heavy sigh escapes his lips. "I never saw it coming and it took the ground under my feet."

He shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on the ground.

"The trial was long and painful and had serious consequences for my career, my marriage, my life. Everything destroyed in a blink of an eye. People started to throw their backs on me, even the ones who called themselves my friends, turned into cold and judgmental strangers disregarding our friendship and ignoring everything they knew about me. Another marriage ended in a divorce and this time, a very nasty one." He crosses a hand through his curls. "There were pieces of evidence against me, all faked and I was going mad because I hadn't the faintest idea of who had so much interest in destroying me like that."

He licks his dry lips pausing for a moment and Clara feels how much those memories, even after so long, still hurt him.

"At the end, what they had wasn't strong enough to convict me, though, others involved in the scandal had been. A politician, a government senior advisor, a public servant. I was the only one considered innocent. But the worst thing it was to find out that I had been set up by my own wife. "

When she snaps her head up with surprised eyes to look at him, he explains. "Missy, wife number two."

Of course. The one he never talks about.

"Why would she do such a thing?"

"Revenge, apparently," he lets out a sour laugh. "But this is a story for another time because the thing is, Clara, as you can see, my past hadn't been exactly flowers and rainbows. Still nowadays there are people that throw me dirty looks because they think I should be in jail. And, even if it had never been an issue for us, it would be complicated enough with people judging us because of our age difference without burdening you with my past. I can't have people judging you by my mistakes."

They fall into a long silence, both of them lost in everything he had just shared with her. She already suspected that life hadn't been so gentle with him, but had never thought that he had been through something like that. It's clearer why he has pushed her away with his need of protecting her even if she had never asked him of that. But there is still something amiss. Why does he sound like he blames himself like he's ashamed of everything if he was innocent?

"What did you do? To Missy?" She insists because somehow she thinks this is the missing part of the puzzle.

He lowers his head for a moment, lips pursed probably considering if he will tell her the rest of the story.

"Back in Glasgow, we had been in a relationship, a very messy and complicated relationship, even for my irresponsible and inconsequent young years. Though I think we were all a little wild in those times, Missy had always been different. Too ambitious, too keen in playing dangerous games and toy with people to achieve her own goals. I'd never approved her behavior, but I was too young and foolish to really understand how wrong she was until I met and fell in love with River. And broke up with her. Apparently, when Missy came back to my life, years after, she still had a problem with that. And I should've known it better, I should've never let her in again. But I chose to ignore the signs and pretend she had changed, I chose to ignore the ones that had always loved me and let her change me instead. I just..." his face contorts into a sad grimace. "I just closed my eyes and ignored her dangerous friends and her suspicious business to think her as an eccentric," he sighs. "After the divorce and probably sensing the siege closing around her, she just disappeared. Nobody had ever been able to locate her. She just vanished into the thin air."

She watches his face, his fierce eyebrows furrowed in a heavy frown. So this is it, the missing piece, the reason why he can't forgive himself.

"Well," she starts, still carefully choosing her words. "You're right, you shouldn't have given your back to your loved ones and certainly shouldn't have trusted into someone who obviously should've never been trusted. But you're just being too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes and believe me, I have my share of regrets too. But the thing is, we all have to learn to forgive ourselves. This is the most important thing. We learn from our mistakes and we forgive ourselves. As for me, I told you once, I don't care about what other people think about me or about us. And I think you shouldn't too."

He looks at her in wonder and watches while her little finger brushes the side of his hand very carefully. His hand moves away from hers to cover hers slowly.

"By being the older one," he gives her a tight-lipped smile, "I'm supposed to be the wiser."

"You're not that old."

His eyes search openly for hers, adoration and love so clear in them that she can't prevent a solitary tear from rolling down her face. He gently cups her face to catch it with his thumb.

"I know that I'm an idiot for hurting you. And I know that I surely don't deserve you, Clara Oswald," a low sigh escapes his lips when she leans into his touch. "But can you forgive me? For being a coward? For hurting you instead of trusting you with the truth?"

"You may be an idiot," her lips curl into a tiny smile that makes him chuckle. "But you're not a coward. It takes a lot of courage to open up to someone else," she turns her head enough to plant a kiss at the palm of the hand he keeps on her cheek. "I won't lie to you by telling that you didn't hurt me. But how can I not forgive you?"

He looks down for a moment, a bashful smile on his lips before his eyes come to meet hers once more. Slowly, he shifts in his place and moves closer, leaning into her to brush his lips on hers.

She gives him a small smile and caresses his cheek, her fingers coming to brush those curls that rest close to his ear and which she loves so much. He closes the distance between them once more, his lips coming to claim her this time in one of those passionate kisses of his, one of those that make her melt and her heart race at a maddening pace. When they finally part, both breathless, she rests her head on his shoulder taking his hand in hers.

"Let's go home Doctor. You need to get some rest."

"Will you stay? With me?"

His voice is nothing more than a whisper and, somewhat she knows that he doesn't mean only for tonight. There is a lump in her throat choking her words while she looks into those impossible eyes of his, her persistent silence certainly confounding him because he continues, nervously.

"Inside, to Mabel, you said that-"

"I said that I loved you, yes," she cuts him off, a tiny smile on her lips. "I still do love you, you idiot."

"Good," he breaths out a small laugh, his eyes the bluest she has ever seen.

"Good?"

"Brilliant," he nods, his face now inches from hers and she can't stop the smile that curls her lips when he adds. "Because I do love you too."


End file.
